This Mother’s Day, let’s try to raise the bar

Mother’s Day is fast approaching, and I have a modest plea.

But not too modest. Too modest is what got us into this mess — and by mess I mean this misconception that moms are so beaten down and drained by life itself that all it really takes to make us happy is someone emptying the dishwasher.

You’ve seen the memes. And the comic strips. And the commercials. And the greeting cards. And the “Porn for New Moms” book filled with photos of men changing diapers and waking up for 3 a.m. feedings.

Nothing, we’re told, fills us with passion quite like clean countertops. Or laundry that someone else folded. Or lunches that someone else prepared. I propose we raise the bar. Let’s acknowledge that, yes, dividing the work of running a household with other members of that household improves life immeasurably. Splitting domestic chores, particularly grocery shopping and dishes, is linked to a happier marriage and a better sex life. (Science!)

But that’s baseline, maintaining your sanity and equilibrium stuff. It’s not the stuff of heartpounding, soul-filling, eyes-welling emotion.

And Mother’s Day should have a little bit of that stuff, shouldn’t it?

It’s tempting, I know, to demur when your kids or your partner asks what you want for Mother’s Day. Oh, just your company, you guys. Maybe a scone.

I know. I’ve done it. Let’s stop doing it this year.

I’m not suggesting we need to demand elaborate, expensive gifts. Especially if elaborate, expensive gifts aren’t your thing. (They’re not mine.) (Actually, if they are your thing: go for it.)

What I am suggesting is that we make Mother’s Day count by using it to reflect on what really, truly brings us joy. And then I’m suggesting we tell our families those things, so they know them about us. And then I’m suggesting our families help us bring more of those things into our lives, all year-round.

I love photos of me and my kids together. I love when someone else takes the photos, so no one is doing the weird selfie arm and all of our heads are in the frame.

I love books. I love when people buy books for me and lend books to me and recommend books to me. I love when I have time to read those books on my couch or in my bed or on a screened-in porch that overlooks a lake. I love when people read the books I read and talk to me about those books. I pretty much want my family to be a book club.

I love massages. By professionals.

I love a long, leisurely day with my girlfriends. I love how everyone gets their own snacks and nobody watches Dude Perfect videos and we bounce from the Cambridge Analytica scandal to the TV show “Scandal” to skin care to climate change and we laugh and cry and leave smarter and better.

I love flowers. I used to dream of opening a flower shop, and maybe I still will someday. But, in the meantime, the next best thing is to have little vases of flowers all over my house. They make me instantly and truly happy.

I love to hear live music. I was really good at prioritizing this before I had kids, and I’ve seen almost none since they were born. I blame myself. But I’ll happily accept a nudge from my people to right this wrong.

What do you love? Do you love to walk through art galleries sipping wine? Do you love to binge-watch “The Crown” on Netflix? Do you love to hike in the mountains? Do you love to do candlelight yoga? Do you love to write? Paint? Ski? Sing karaoke? Does your family know?

Moms take everyone’s temperature — physical and metaphorical. We read rooms. We interpret. We infer. If you’re family, we know your likes, your dislikes, your joys, your sorrows, your triumphs, your allergies, your anniversaries, your deadlines, your debts, your favourite meal, your favourite song your favourite shirt.

I — and you — get to cultivate and celebrate the rest of life with all the fervour we bring to mothering. Even if memes and comic strips and greeting cards tell us otherwise.

Not just on Mother’s Day, which is a single day, loaded with expectations, freighted with commercialism. On all of our days. Tell your people what brings you joy. In addition, of course, to them — because I bet they already know that.

What I am suggesting is that we make Mother’s Day count by using it to reflect on what really, truly brings us joy. And then I’m suggesting we tell our families those things, so they know them about us.