Mother’s Day not always a day to play role of mom

Experiencing loss means it may not be day of celebration

My son lives with me every other week. In between, I live a life of an unencumbered adult: doing what I want when I want. I do the same when he's here, really, because I pay the mortgage and have three decades on him.

Lucky for him, biology makes loving, protecting and caring for him an imperative. Lucky for me, I really enjoy doing so. In fact, hanging out with my kid is one my favorite ways to spend a day.

One of my favorites. And, definitely, not on Mother's Day.

I parent from the perspective of Kahlil Gibran with a bit of Carl Jung mixed in: Children belong to life, not us, and to sacrifice life in service of them is tragic. I am particularly sensitive to this as a woman raising a son solo 50 percent of the time. Codependency is something I want to avoid for both our sakes. The goal is for him to grow into a man who stands on his own and feels comfortable around women who do the same. So, while my son is secure in my love for him and his place in my life, he also understands I exist beyond my ability to serve to his wants and needs. He knows I have my own wants and needs that sometimes supersede his because sometimes I choose me.

Which brings me to Mother's Day.

Although I'm sure there will come a time when I want nothing more than to devote Mother's Day to time with my son, that time is not now. He's too young to appreciate a good boozy brunch and lazy stroll through the art museum, my preferred way to spend the day since my mother and grandmother passed. Their deaths laid a layer of melancholy on the day. To fight against that, I need Mother's Day to be a celebration of light and laughter vs. a sentimental tribute to the mother/child bond. And because that's what I need, I do it. I spend the day with a like-minded girlfriend celebrating motherhood by celebrating ourselves — without any child related by blood in the vicinity. I don't want to cry on Mother's Day nor do I want to spend brunch cutting my eyes at my kid because he will not stop drumming the silverware on the china. And I don't feel obligated to pretend otherwise.

Obligation breeds resentment. And resentment rots relationships from the inside out — whether they be parental, platonic or romantic. This is one of the hard-worn truths I know. I would resent having to be "on" on a day dedicated to my honor.

Here's the other thing about our Mother's Day ritual that's important to me: It reminds me there are men in the world who remember the mothers in their lives were women first, including my son's father, who extends a Mother's Day "I Got the Kids" pass to both his wife and me. Mother's Day at the museum is less about escape and more about recharge. It is an exercise in stretching the parts of us that read Gibran and studied Jung, tasted reds in the foothills of the Andes, danced on dive-bar tables in Cape Town and marched in the streets of Atlanta... the parts that did/do many amazing things beyond keeping young people clean, fed and loved.

Being a mother is one of my favorite parts of myself. Finding wonder again through my son's eyes is a blessing I do not take lightly. But this Mother's Day, as I have for three years running now, I'm choosing me.