Regardless of the quality of the final product, I can usually count on being treated a little better than usual on this most ceremonious of days. It usually begins with a ridiculously early wake up call of breakfast being shoved at me, while I attempt to sit up in bed and not spill everything on the covers (for which I would inevitably be the one who’d have to clean up). This is usually followed by a mandate from the queen on some manual labor to be done without gripage. (I would be playing the role of the queen in this scenario, and yes, I made up the word “gripage,” meaning the spewing of such gripes from children in protest of having to get off their butts and do something physical). Later in the day, gifts of chocolate bars, sometimes a card and dinner is prepared for me. Not too shabby…I’ll take it. (It’s a lot better than the year they HONESTLY got me cow manure for Mother’s Day).
But what I HATE about Mother’s Day is the day following it. That’s right, the very next day, every single year, I get PMDD, Post Mother’s Day Depression. It’s a clinical phenomena and I understand I am not the only one it affects.
Haven’t heard of PMDD? Well, allow me to explain. You see, after a day of pampering (whatever that may look like…for me that means getting some help with cleaning the garage), the Monday after Mother’s Day is a big ole slap of reality, right in the face! It’s the decline from the high one has been on the previous day, to returning to the low of the daily grind. That’s right, still be woken up early, but to have to drag one’s self off to their regular day of work. No one attempting to make breakfast for you, and you’re forced to pour your own milk in your Cheerios. Geez, not fair! Kids are back to ignoring you at full throttle and grouchiness is back to an all time high. No asking them to do something without hearing, “I’ll do it later…” or the one that really pisses me off, “Gawd, Mom, we worked all day on the garage yesterday, just for you. Now you want me to take the garbage out too? CRIPES MOM, you make me do everything. You are so ungrateful.” *deep cleansing breath here, before I smack the crap outta him*
Then of course by evening, it’s back to cooking for the family and cleaning up everything. And the ultimate worst part of PMDD is the weight gain. Since I’m a chocoholic, it never fails that I get chocolate for Mother’s Day…problem is the chocolate is completely gone by the following night, and I’ve eaten every bit of it, ALL BY MYSELF, (because one of the symptoms of PMDD is stress eating, ugh!). It goes without saying, this is now coupled with the depressing dread of stepping on the scale the next day, just to be doomed by those delectable delights. Definitely a downer. But the silver lining is that in 364 days, I will be Queen of the Castle again for 24 hours, so that one thought alone gives me something to look forward to.
Hope you all had a wonderful Mother’s Day…now go eat some chocolate!!!
(Got any funny stories about how you spent Mother’s Day? Please fee free to share in the comments)!