As a mother now for over a decade, I’ve navigated through the typical Mother’s Day celebrations—those cherished foot-print crafts from my little ones, the lovely flowers from my husband, and yes, even the chaotic brunch outings that taught me a lesson or two about dining out with children. However, as time has passed, I’ve come to realize that my true wish for Mother’s Day isn’t grand gifts or indulgent spa days. It’s something far simpler and often overlooked: a day of solitude.
Don’t get me wrong; I absolutely cherish the homemade gifts my kids create. Last year, they compiled a list of everything they love about me, which my husband framed and displayed in our kitchen. It brought me to happy tears—especially when my youngest declared his love for my potato cooking skills, despite my occasional culinary adventures rarely including potatoes. And the clay pot my third grader crafted, which could either be a bowl or a 1980s-style “ashtray,” holds a special place in my heart. Cards, necklaces made of wooden beads proclaiming “I love Mommy”—I adore them all.
But what I value most is the moment on Mother’s Day when my kids present their creations at 8 a.m., shower me with hugs and kisses, and then bid me farewell for the day. It took me years to come to terms with this desire, but now it’s clear: the greatest gift I seek is simply to be alone.
A brunch filled with chaos—arriving late, dealing with lost shoes, and children needing frequent bathroom breaks—is not appealing. In fact, breakfast in bed seems like a disaster waiting to happen. And while flowers are lovely, I’d much prefer some comfy slippers or a fresh pair of sweatpants that don’t embarrass my kids during school pick-up.
After three pregnancies in five years and countless hours spent attending to my little ones’ every need, I finally realized I needed a day off. A single day without being needed, without wiping away messes, and without the constant refrain of “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.” The first time I asked for this, I felt guilty, justifying it with thoughts of needing new jeans. But now, I’ve established clear expectations with my family. On Mother’s Day, I announce my plans in the morning and disappear until evening. Whether it’s indulging in a fancy coffee, reading in peace, shopping for jeans, or simply enjoying a quiet day filled with fried cheese, the day is mine.
Initially, I feared solitude, associating silence with loneliness. But motherhood has transformed my perspective; I now embrace the quiet moments as a luxurious escape. And like many mothers, I wrestled with guilt. My husband asks for family time on Father’s Day, so why shouldn’t I want the same? The difference is that he enjoys adult interactions daily, while I’m often submerged in the world of children. After experiencing my first Mother’s Day alone, the guilt dissipated—it was simply glorious.
This year, I’ve already made my request known. It’s marked on our family calendar. I expect minimal demands from my loved ones, with Dad taking the reins. If they want to indulge in donuts or skip brushing their teeth, that’s on them. I won’t be available unless there’s an emergency.
So, to my family, thank you for my Mother’s Day gift—it’s exactly what I needed.
Summary
In this heartfelt reflection, a mother shares her evolution from traditional Mother’s Day celebrations to acknowledging what she truly desires: a day to herself. After years of chaos and the demands of motherhood, she embraces solitude on this special day, finding joy in her own company. The article emphasizes the importance of self-care for mothers and encourages them to prioritize their needs.