Mother’s Day in Australia. It’s not a public holiday. Unsurprisingly.
Even if it was, once you become a mother you never get a day off, ever. We should just call it for what it is: Sunday.
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A day where thinly veiled messages of thanks and deep appreciation come at you thick and fast; where companies pretend to care about mothers in an attempt to increase their profit margins.
And then there are the dad-gathered gifts. Usually sh*tty ones. That none of us want.
Like ugly coloured sleeping masks, a never-going-to-be-used tube of hand cream, bath salts – all panic bought from the overpriced section at the chemist on the Saturday night.
If you’re lucky, the florist will still be open, and you’ll get flowers. Which I’ve never got the point of, since they will live in a vase of water that turns swampy and you'll end up being the one who has to chuck them out, anyway.
If it’s left to the kids, we'll be presented with brightly coloured necklaces handmade out of pasta and string. Thank you, teachers. Nothing can compare.
The teenagers. Well, they don't really care. But they may raise their eyes from the screen and make eye contact, and in extreme cases even offer a hug. That’ll do just nicely.
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The adverts in the lead-up to the day make it seem so pink, fluffy, and lovely. But look under the pretty sparkly bow that the day is wrapped in – a day that is supposed to show gratitude to mothers for their influence and contribution – and you will likely find burnout. And lack of recognition. Under-appreciation.
You’ll find women with bleach and scrubbing brushes rage cleaning their bathrooms in tears, wishing someone would get it! The sacrifice. The brutal boredom. The red-hot loneliness. The fear. The pressure. The responsibility. The never-ending pile of laundry that either needs to be washed, hung, folded or put away. Every single day. Forever.
Let’s just cancel it. Let’s pick out a day that isn’t a weekend and make it a public holiday. For. Mothers. Only.
Let us book ourselves into hotels for long hot baths. Massages. Sleep-ins. Let us accept gift cards or cash and shop for things that we actually want.
Let’s set our families a challenge. A 'Mother’s Day' challenge. Where they have to do all – and I mean ALL the things we do in a day. And let us enjoy coming home to a family that will realise what it’s like to be a mum and deeply appreciate us for all that we do.
Tarrin Lenard is a Zimbabwean Immigrant who loves gin but drinks tea, teaches yoga and writes words. And not that it should matter but who has also birthed four humans. And been married. Twice. You can find more from Tarrin on Facebook or Instagram.
Feature Image: Supplied.
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