Just because something’s a tradition, doesn’t mean it’s pleasant.

Hazing is a tradition.

That’s why I’m making the case NOT to go to brunch on Mother’s Day.

Now, take a peek over at the left side of your screen. That’s me, in the purple shirt.

Hi-yee! (I’m waving.)

Look at me. I LOVE BRUNCH – you can see it in my chins.

Where else can you get the foods you eat normally, at an inconvenient hour, cooked in – and then covered with – butter? Don’t forget your own carafe of coffee! (Sharing at brunch is déclassé.) Brunch is awesome. I’m eating brunch right now.

goes down so easy...

goes down so easy…

I’m not really, but it’s delicious under everyday circumstances.

Brunch on Mother’s Day is a special kind of hell. (Yes, I’m aware I’ll never be invited to Mother’s Day Brunch again, as long as I live. Good Riddance.)

Golly, think we'll be cold?

Golly, think we’ll be cold?

Did you dress up? Come right from church? Wear the spring dress you bought for Easter, but it snowed that day, and it’s still not bleeding warm enough in the middle of MAY? Maybe you’re in uncomfortable shoes, or you had your toes done, and it’s sleeting.

I’ll bet the kids are dressed up, too, because nothing says “I’m a good mom,” like forcing your kids to wear stiff Land’s End and NOT MOVE all morning.

You’re probably starving, and when you get to that adorable breakfast spot you love so much, every family in the STATE is there with their newborns and grandparents and relatives from Canada. (Canadians are nice people, what’s wrong with you?)

Even though you had a reservation (that you made yourself, ironically…) there’s an hour wait, and you’re forced to stand  in your uncomfortable shoes (grandparents and Canadians get dibs on chairs) and smell coffee and cinnamon toast while your stomach growls and you corral your children, who are also hungry, but lucky for them, have built-in snacks they hide in their noses.

By the time you DO sit down, it’s all ruined, and you’re not queen anymore. You’re back to being “mom in a restaurant.” The kids eat four or five packs of jelly apiece and don’t touch the $7 smiley pancakes. Your husband tells you you don’t have to get a salad, as if you were going to get a freaking salad, and hey, what is he trying to tell you…?

Oh. No. You. Didn't.

Oh. No. You. Didn’t.

The babies are crying, the grandparents are shouting, the Canadians are clattering their cutlery and apologizing. The whole restaurant quiets down just  at the exact second you yell, “I like it BLACK!”

Once you’ve eaten, assuming nobody spills their tomato juice, puts an elbow in the syrup, or bites their lip and has to be rushed to the ER, you’ll feel rotten from all that coffee and hot buttered crap. But you’ll still finish everything on your plate, because it’s a Special Occasion, and you can’t remember the last time you stayed seated through a meal.

When you finally leave the restaurant, it’s noon. Too late to do anything with the kids, too early to drink yourself dizzy and crawl back into bed.

So what DO you do on Mother’s Day, when all you’ve ever done is go to brunch?

Mother’s Day is in 2 Weeks – Please let me know when you’ve figured something out.

Here’s my book about after school activities. It’s even called After School…$0.99 for a limited time!


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