Quarantine has messed me up so badly that I completely forgot to prepare for Mother’s Day. A rookie mistake that resulted in an epic fail where I was forced to spend MD with my family in the house during questionable weather, without even an inkling on how I would enjoy it.
Because let’s be real. Partners and children are generally unreliable when it comes to planning magical moments. I learned long ago that if I wanted to have at least a shot at a good Mother’s Day, I had to clearly articulate my expectations, have several back-up itineraries and establish the ability to call a redo should the proverbial or actual schtick hit the fan (which reminds me, if you’re a mom of little ones, fuggedaboutit. When your world includes diapers, naptime and/or sippy cups, MD is a game-time decision, at best. You can’t control projectile vomiting, night terrors, potty accidents, surprise rashes or neediness, so best to table your hopes and dreams and give it another five years before you attempt a real Mother’s Day celebration. Sorry).
Usually, I plan an eight-hour all-about-me extravaganza that includes, but is not limited to, brunch with the peeps, consignment shopping and movie theater popcorn, but stupid coronavirus has robbed me of those guilty pleasures. And because this year’s MD was cold and windy rather than warm and sunny, sunbathing with a rum punch was also not feasible. I guess the rum punch part was, but why bother? I didn’t even take off my pajamas!
This Mother’s Day, more than any other, I really needed a solid plan. Curse you, quarantine!