“How about earrings?” I overhear one child suggest.
“Or a spa treatment?” offers the other child.
I’m wincing outside my husband’s office door, where I have been eavesdropping. Dan and the girls are having their annual Mother’s Day powwow. I almost need a restraining order to keep from barging in. I want to tell them: No more stuff! I don’t want another piece of jewelry, a facial or a panini maker.
No, I haven’t suddenly become a martyr. On the contrary, I plan to milk Mother’s Day for all its worth — as usual. We moms get only one shot a year to call in those favors. This year, I don’t want stuff; I want stuff done.
“Flowers?”
“A new mixer?”
Nooooo! If they would only ask me!
As they continue their misguided brainstorming, I ask myself what I really want. What does any woman want? Less stress, more joy. And that doesn’t come in a box. I don’t want more things in my closets or cupboards. I want fewer. I look around my house — havoc’s breeding ground — and sigh. My fantasies run amok. All I want for Mother’s Day is:
• Anything that calms the chaos so I can walk out of my bedroom without feeling like I should wear a pith helmet.
• A refrigerator that knows when food has gone bad and tosses it before I open the door and get hit with a smell that could stop a charging rhino.
• Clothes that hang themselves up.
• A mudless mudroom.
• A laundry machine that separates darks from lights, delicates from denim, and folds.
• A kitchen that cooks.
• A desk that sorts papers, projects and bills in order of priority.
• Area rugs that shake themselves out.
• Counters that wipe their own crumbs.
• Dogs that pick up after themselves.
• A dishwasher that loads and empties.
• Self-making beds.
The kids bust out of the office and find me mid-reverie.
“Were you listening?” one asks.
I look guilty.
“You’re pathetic,” the other says.
“But wait, I can help you!” I start telling them my thoughts about stress and joy, and that what I want can’t be bought, but they flee. The dogs bolt with them. Dan has turned his attention back to his computer, but because he remains a half-captive audience, I keep going.
“What I really want is for all of us to pitch in and do something useful around the house — together.” He looks at me dubiously.
“Getting stuff is fun, but getting stuff done is even better.”
“Don’t tell me you suddenly think the best things in life are free,” he says. “I know you.”
“Household projects aren’t free. They take time, effort and cooperation. Things in short supply around here.”
“You mean you would rather have us do yardwork than get you a gift?”
“I have a dozen more ideas.”
“Give me your list,” he says with a sigh.
He doesn’t have to ask me twice.
Syndicated columnist Marni Jameson is the author of “The House Always Wins” (Da Capo). Contact her through .
One mom’s wish list
Apparently, I’m right on trend. According to IBISWorld, a marketing research firm, spending for Mother’s Day is down 15 percent this year from 2008. I hope my household is part of that statistic. In a year when budgets are tight, moms might consider asking their families to tackle the honey-do-home-improvement list in lieu of a material gift. Dads and kids, take note: Pitching in with a good attitude is harder than buying a gift certificate, but worth a lot more than you think. Here are some ideas:
Have a family yard day. Weed, mow, prune and plant flowers.
Paint the fence or the garden bench.
Get the patio or deck summer-ready by washing down outdoor cushions, furniture and sun umbrellas; refreshing mats and rugs; and putting annuals in planters.
Clean the garage.
Put up wainscoting, crown molding or a chair rail.
Paint the playroom.
Have a mass clean-out day followed by a run to the Goodwill store.
Build a bookcase.
Have everyone pick a day of the week when they’re in charge of dinner.
Wash and detail mom’s car.
Don’t fight, goof off or flake out.
Make your own card and seal it with love.
(Private note to moms: I don’t like to let on, but truth is, despite the havoc they create, I’m grateful I live with people I love who do leave crumbs, footprints, smelly fish tanks and clothes on the floor. I bet you are, too. Happy Mother’s Day.)
