Do not get me wrong, I love living in this day and age, and I really do – for the most part – love social media. I mean, except for trolls, but who really cares about them? I didn’t even really like these trolls back when they were popular:
The more I look at that, the more disturbed I am. THEY HAVE PENCILS UP THEIR ASSES.
Anyway. This post is not about trolls, or how we used to spin those pencils to get their hair to point straight up. This post is about Mother’s Day.
As I was saying, I do love social media. If it wasn’t for social media I would have never met Hannah and Allison, and this blog would just be a blank page in the history of the Internet. But there’s a bit of a dark side to it as well, and I’m not even talking about the trolls who misspell everything in their quest to tell you that “your a stoopid bitch” or similar.
No, I’m talking about the expectations set up for Mother’s Day.
Mother’s Day used to be a day of poorly made breakfasts for mom, followed by homemade cards and school crafts. Maybe we pooled our allowance and walked to the Zellers store with our siblings and bought some bubble bath to go along with it, but that was pretty much Mother’s Day.
Did our mothers like it? Well. I’m thinking of a time when I made my mom a cup of coffee. I didn’t know how to use the coffee maker, but we did have instant coffee in the house. I had made hot chocolate before, so I assumed it was concocted in the same way. I topped up the four teaspoons of instant coffee with hot water and presented it to my mother. Like mother, like daughter, she loves her coffee and drinks it black, so she took a sip. She asked how many spoonfuls I had used, and blinked when I answered “four.” Then, dear reader, she DRANK IT.
God bless my long-suffering mother. Hannah told me of a Mother’s Day where her siblings got up at five in the morning, made eight slices of buttered toast for their mother, and then they put it in the fridge until she woke up three hours later. And she then consumed the eight cold, congealed slices of toast.
Nowadays we feel slighted if Mother’s Day doesn’t come up to our Pinterest-level standards. Go to the Internet and you can see how many women are dreadfully disappointed about Mother’s Day, how it didn’t come up to these standards we have created.
Don’t get me wrong; I’d take a spa day or diamonds any day. And I don’t want to eat three-hour-old cold buttered toast. Maybe it’s because my kids are getting older, and school-made cards may soon be a thing of the past, but this year I’m just going to enjoy my doily-lined construction paper card that I hope is coming my way.