Thank God it’s over.

I do not enjoy “Mother’s Day”. I haven’t in a long long time. Trapped between my own hatred of “knee-jerk holidays” and my mother’s expectations for the day usually end up in me feeling depressed and inadequate. And grumpy.

I cooked lunch for my Mom. Did the dishes (two loads in our “There’s nothing wrong with it!” too-small dishwasher). Picked up the livingroom. Folded 3 loads of laundry. Managed the kids. Tried to work on a client’s website (for the record, made more difficult thanks to a 3YO clamoring for attention).

How, precisely, is that different than any of the 51 OTHER Sundays in my year? (or any other day, for that matter)

It isn’t.