This Mother's Day, leave us alone

Peloton released its Mother’s Day apparel collection several weeks ago, and oh baby, it was not what I expected. The fuzzy robe; oversized stripe pajamas; mommy-daughter matching t-shirts; baby onesies; a shirt that reads PELOTON MOM. Ugh. I am working my glutes off, squatting more in my living room than on any dance floor in my twenties, engaging in a constant search and rescue mission for my “core.” Give us something spicy – a mesh shirt. A bike short, at least.

The collection felt off-brand, commercially disconnected from the narrative that indebted so many mothers to their bikes. After birthing my second daughter, Peloton first sold me on the notion of bettering myself to better my family. That sacred time you take for you – even 20 minutes a day – builds and builds, until you remember things about yourself you may have forgotten. You are not PELOTON MOM. You are a standalone human, who rides her bike to look for her.

Yet, all of these gift options revolve around other family members or sleeping. Which is, to be honest, the status quo. Mother’s Day is too often just mothers thanking their children for making them “mamas,” rewarding their spouse’s minimal efforts to entertain them for an extra hour, until you all Do Something As A Family that you, “the mama,” planned in advance. We smile, we hug, we pose, we post, and another Sunday is done.      

We are entering new times, though. I can tell. Maybe it’s because more of us than ever have internalized the messaging from our virtual fitness instructors and are attempting to find time for ourselves. Maybe it’s because we had none of it for a very long time. But I conducted an informal social media survey across my very modest following of like-minded women to find out what the perfect Mother’s Day gift would be. Every single mother – except one – said she wanted time alone.

“Time alone in my own house.”

“A month’s vacation alone! Okay, I’ll take a long weekend :)”

“House to myself for 5+ hours.”

“An overnight stay at a great hotel and spa alone.”

“A night out with my friends, just friends.”

You get the point.

For more than a year, mothers have tended to every need of their tiny humans, needs which seem to compound not because there are more of them, but because we are here.

We are always here, an earshot away from their high-pitched demands for “Ice cold water, with ICE!” and “Not the ‘mercial, Mom! More Peppa!” No matter how independent or polite your children are, you have fielded these cries, while on your ninth load of laundry. Let us not forget the mental load of securing COVID-safe activities, while managing the inventory of paper products, produce, and nuggets, while on your third conference call. Again, always, an earshot away. What’s that? You manufactured 20 spare minutes to ride your Peloton? Well, then this little experiment in perpetual togetherness must be working.

Personally, I would like a weekend at a spa, but I can hear the faint whisper of Father’s Day in the distance, so I’d settle for something smaller: a day. I’d start the morning with coffee in bed, where I’d stay and be fed at least one meal like Charlie Bucket’s grandparents. Maybe re-watch some Bridgerton. Then, I’d go for a long run, where I’d daydream about the one hot outfit I have left in my closet and where I can wear it this summer. I’d return to my backyard, pop open a chilled bottle of champagne, and write all afternoon. Finally, my loving children and dear husband would return home from whatever undisclosed location he kept them at for many hours, and he would barbecue us all dinner and put them both to bed. This is attainable, right? 

For some, I am sure it is. But for many, it is not. Some don’t have the household infrastructure to allow for this to happen or a spouse to carry the load. Others are just not used to asking for time – real time – alone. (Hint: I am one of those.) We need Peloton instructors to tell us it’s okay to even begin to believe we deserve that space. It’s a skill we are learning from last year’s desperate circumstances. Because our jobs are perpetual and our families’ needs endless, we bend until the verge of breaking, only to find our spirits more nimble than expected.

So we push through, continuing the cycle, willing to give more to everyone but ourselves.

This is not necessarily anyone’s fault. In my case, I just didn’t know how to say no for a long time. And still, when presented with the possibility of two quiet hours during Ruby’s weekend naps, I almost always start a project with Hazel, the only exception being when my own mother is here to occupy her. Of course, it’s rooted in love and guilt, the nagging sense that nothing I give to anyone is ever enough. But I needed to stop doing that.

We all need to stop doing that – particularly, on our day.  

For the mothers secretly hoping for time alone this weekend, share this with someone who can help you find it. Have your spouse book a room. You book a room. Or book a room in your own damn room and don’t come out. Give yourself permission to enjoy silence, embrace stillness, and hear yourself for a change. Better yet, do it in your new robe.

If the word “mama” makes you cringe, email me: averagejoelle3@gmail.com.

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The little things

In honor of Mother’s Day, I’m sharing Kate Baer’s What Kind of Woman. This emotional, raw book of poems captures the personal and professional challenges of being, well, us. When I was a young lawyer, I drafted a poem about the things I felt I had to be, which were in stark disagreement with one another. Baer’s poetry embodies everything I cannot find the words for. It is masterful.

Moms, I think you’ll enjoy this one:

She also has a forthcoming book of poems, I Hope This Finds You Well: Poems, a collection of erasure poems derived from DMs, notes, and emails she’s received from supporters and haters alike. Turning actual feedback into art is a sight to be seen, and I can’t wait to devour the whole collection in November 2021.