I hate Mother’s Day. I don’t want my kids to tattoo, I want them to leave me alone

I agree with Claudia Winkleman on most things – eyeliner, vertiginous heels, the fact that thick bangs take years off you.

But following her comments this week, I also support the 52-year-old Strictly host’s views on Mother’s Day.

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Besides the fact that we both have three kids – our oldest is in our twenties – we might as well be best friends now that we both hate Mother’s Day.

Mum-of-three Claudia revealed: “I can’t stand it. If the kids even come near me with anything resembling a card, a flower, a breakfast in bed, a speech, I will stop you there.

‘Now let me tell them to unload the dishwasher. . . they can do that on the other days. My eldest is twenty-one, I think: just lie there and let me do it.”

I couldn’t agree more with her sentiments. Just like Claudia, I can’t stand it. Just the words Mother’s Day make my eyes twitch.

I hate the commercial nature of it and the cost of flowers being so high for just a few days.

I hate the tattoos kids get at school and I loathe how smug every mother manages to look for 24 hours – I mean, it’s just childbirth, honestly.

My first Mother’s Day was at age 25 in 2005. My eldest, Eddie, was just one and his father, Jon, decided a pop CD was an appropriate Mother’s Day gift.

I was proudly woken at 5.42am by Jon pushing a crying Eddie onto me, who decided he wanted to be fed before I unwrapped my £15 gift.

Fast forward 19 years and while Eddie has thankfully forgotten Mother’s Day in recent years and my middle son Sammy, 15, has done the same, it’s our daughter Annie, 13, who refuses to let the day die.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate being a parent, I love it and it has been one of the defining roles in my life. I just hate the day when someone – most likely Mr. Clinton or Mr. Hallmark – decided to be set aside to celebrate mothers.

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When I even think about it, I’m not even a good mother. For years I refused to spend money on costumes so they could take part in World Book Day and I never made – or even bought – cakes for the school cake sale.

I have steadfastly refused to queue at the middle football games for ten years and have to be reminded to top up the dinner money cards, which means the kids often go hungry at school lunch.

I even forgot to register for primary school for my middle child – what on earth is there to celebrate me for?

Even if you ignore the fact that I’m hardly Mother of the Year, why would I expect my children to congratulate me on something they had no say in?

They didn’t ask to be born, so why should I expect them to celebrate my maternal genius – or lack thereof in my case.

While I’m a pretty bad mother, if 80s, 90s, and 00s Mother’s Day is anything to go by, I’m also a pretty bad daughter when it comes to celebrating my own dear mother, Irene.

I think my unbroken streak of not sending her a Mother’s Day card lasted about ten years, from 1999 to 2009. It wasn’t until my dad Mick stepped in and said it meant a lot to my mum, 76, that I gave in and started sending her again cards – which inevitably arrive a few days later, because (sorry, mom) I always post them the Monday after the big day.

I hate the tattoos kids get at school and I loathe how smug every mother manages to look for 24 hours.”

Clare O’Reilly

I know she still has a photo and pincushion I made at Brownies when I was about eight, but even though she cherishes it, I see the things the kids used to make as a mess that I have to clean up and recycle .

Plus, it’s invariably me who has to drive around to different Hobbycraft stores for a Pritt Stick, colored cardboard, or other ridiculous items so my kids can try and make something they saw on TikTok or YouTube and can’t.

I’m also eating breakfast in bed – not least because it has always involved lukewarm coffee and burnt toast – except for the year they spilled the whole thing up the stairs, which then led to me attending Mother’s Day Homebase spent buying ‘brilliant white’ and painting over my oat milk latte that adorned the stair wall.

Honestly, I would rather the fruit of my loins leave me alone and give me peace and quiet on Mother’s Sunday. If the day is about celebrating mothers, I’d rather they celebrate far away from me and give me a glimpse of what my life was like before kids.

I don’t want cards, I don’t want gifts, I don’t want flowers. I would love to sleep in and not have to drop them off or pick them up for once – if they could empty the dishwasher, get their towels off the floor and make their beds too, that would be the best mother. Day gift ever.

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