Mother’s Day gift we all could use

SUSIE O’BRIEN

THANKS to COVID, Mother’s Day last year was a real break – no restaurant lunches, no spa visits, no big dinners, no service station flowers grabbed on the way to brunch.

This year we’re baaaack, baby, and the challenge will be to make sure all of us mums get the rest we want and deserve now that life is busier than ever.

Mother’s Day should be a real break, not a “day off” celebrated by watching two games of junior football and one netball match in the rain. It’s supposed to be a day for us to relax and do nothing, but it never happens, does it?

Kids’ sporting groups are part of the con, trying to mark Mother’s Day by making us do more, not less.

A few years ago, my son’s footy team had a Mother’s Day event where the mums had to compete in a longest kick competition and even play a Mums vs Kids game.

To be frank, turning up at an oval at 9am, being judged on my ability to look good in a pair of 2XU compression pants tighter than they used to be and trying to kick a goal while being tackled by a fiveyear-old was not my idea of fun.

This day of rest often goes out the window before dawn. The kids are so excited to hand over the macaroni necklace and eggshell photo frame they’ve been making for weeks that they peel back mum’s eyelids at 6am and jump under the doona.

The pasta necklace she will proudly wear all day is tangible proof of their love for her. (She will throw it out a few months later when she finds it in her jewellery box, green and smelling of mould because the teacher’s aide mucked up and cooked the pasta first.)

After the present-giving, the next great Mother’s Day tradition plays out: breakfast in bed. The first sign something’s up is the smell of burning in the air. But who cares? Half-arsed mums like me love any meal they haven’t had to cook, and you’ll find her in raptures, even when it’s pretty much inedible. “Eggs, how did you know I love them so hard?”, “Toast! How did you know I love it all dry and black like that?”, “MasterChef here we come, kids!”

Mums know they will saunter out to the kitchen an hour later to a scene of total chaos because the kids will have lost interest in cleaning up and will instead be playing the PS4 with their dad.

“We used the saucepans we gave you for Christmas,” they’ll say proudly. “Every single one of them.” Sigh. Never mind, it’s Mother’s Day. It’s the thought that counts. “Have a break, Mum,” the kids will say. “You can do the washing up later.”

Let me assure you, most mums would be happy with a half-price petrol-station bunch of flowers, a handmade card and a sleep-in.

Marketing to mums surveyed 400 mothers and found they don’t want products and presents for Mother’s Day, but a sit-down meal with the family and for the kids not to argue.

One mum said she wanted a gift that acknowledged her role as a “unique human being” but would settle for “a cup of tea and marmalade toast”. Another said she just wanted the kids to “put their Zooper Dooper wrappers and the scissors away”.

Mums don’t want to receive vegetable spiralisers, electronic slippers that massage their feet, or magnified beauty mirrors that will make their pores look the size of pork pies.

Mother’s Day marketers may be surprised to know women don’t spend their whole lives cleaning, cooking for others and keeping our

HALF-ARSED MUMS LIKE ME LOVE ANY MEAL THEY HAVEN’T HAD TO COOK

feet warm and electronically stimulated.

It reminds me of a Jenny Craig campaign a few years ago advising people to talk to their mum on Mother’s Day about her weight.

Do you do that before or after the pavlova and cream?

Instead, why not try a pot that stirs itself, microwavable slippers (don’t leave them in too long and serve them for dinner) and the best of all: a cook book called What the F**K Should I Cook for Dinner? Yes, yes, yes!

Unless she can use it, drink it, wear it, or return it for something she really wants, she’s not likely to be interested.

Happy Mother’s Day to all mums out there. We love you all.