MY DEAR FAMILY, 

With Mother’s Day approaching, I’d like to give some direction relative to this year’s expectations, as well as offer feedback on some previous Mother’s Day efforts.

For example, remember when you kids made me laminated placemats adorned with phrases like  “LOVED” and  “#1 Mom?” I wish I could remember what else they said but I threw them out so quickly.  

And who could forget the flowers?  Because nothing says, “Holy crap, I forgot it was Mother’s Day!” like a bunch of purple tulips purchased from a bodega Sunday morning on the way home from the gym.

Oh, and the cards.  I know I told you that was all I wanted.  And that it was the thought that counted.  I just never thought you’d believe me. Isn’t it a universally accepted fact that “All I need is a card” is code-speak for “Book me a two-hour hot stone massage?” I feel I’ve taught you nothing.

So listen up, fam. Mama’s going to level with you. Because how moms get treated on Mother’s Day should be the bellwether for how we are treated EVERY day.

First off, just because I like to live in a clean house doesn’t mean that I should be the one to clean it. This place is gross and that is because of you filthy heathens. I am not your frat house pledge. Nor am I your housekeeper/personal assistant/sous chef/grooming facilitator/medical assistant/dishwasher. Please, just once let me wake up to a kitchen sink not filled with dirty tomato water and a floating sopping-wet sponge.

Also, when YOU can’t find something, how about YOU look for it??!!! My ovaries aren’t homing devices. Look yourself. I guarantee it’s under that giant sweaty pile of stuff of everything you own.

At the risk of being indelicate, can there be no farting on this day? I can’t imagine the social situation where you’d stand and let one rip without even breaking stride conversationally. Or worse, commenting on the fart’s particular stench. There is just nothing in my life that prepared me for this most foul of behaviors and please, I’m asking — no BEGGING — to cease and desist. If only for one day.

And while I’m asking, I’d love a day that doesn’t include making the rounds of flushing unflushed toilets. On Mother’s Day, treat me like the queen you should think I am. I’m not asking for anything material.  Except jewelry…jewelry is always nice. But please, just find a way to remind me that I am your world, your rock, your Beyoncé.  Perhaps there’s a short film to be produced, or an original song to be written and performed? Find out what Lin-Manuel Miranda is doing for his mother, then double it.

Show me that my efforts at holding this household together have not been unappreciated.  I must confess that there have been times, like when I’m bending over picking up wet Cheez-Its from your shower drain that I feel bereft.  So give your old mom a lift.  Exalt the f*ck out of me on this one day.  Because, as we all know, come Monday, those Cheez-Its and those toilets will be waiting for me. But perhaps then I can whistle a few bars from that original song you composed, or tap my toe to that new dance number you choreographed.  It sure would make me feel better.  Even LOVED.  Or like I was #1 MOM.  So c’mon, make me proud.  

Or just wring out that sponge.