I wrote a Debate post last year for Mother’s Day, back when the “Weekend Debate” was still the “Saturday Debate”. What you should takeaway from that is that last May, I was fool hearty enough to think believe could squeeze a discussion topic post out every Saturday afternoon. Clearly, this was before I realized my weekends often make the President’s daily agenda look simple. And he’s got an entire staff to keep him on track.
In fact, I think I’m going to start referring to the Puddintopia writing area as the East Wing. Because, why not?
Anyway, so back to the Weekend Debate. In case you weren’t aware, Mother’s Day is this weekend (if, in fact, you weren’t aware, you can thank me later. Go buy a card and something nice for the lady who either a) carried your unappreciative, under-developed corporeal form to term while it incubated long enough to breath oxygen and survive the outside world, b) nurtured and raised you, cut the crusts off your sandwiches, and waited up to until 2 am to make sure you were alive and unharmed before she started yelling at you, or c ) all of the above.
Of course, mothers everywhere have been barking orders to “stop fighting!”, “quit bickering!”, and “empty the drainer” (maybe that last one is just for me?) since the dawn of time, so it seemed a little, I don’t know, wrong to be stirring up a fight on the weekend dedicated to her.
So I figured let’s take it easy this week.
On Sunday afternoon, fathers across the US will stumble into the kitchen and realize that dinner is their responsibility. Of course, that’s not to suggest they don’t normally manage dinner. This isn’t Mad Men and I’d like to think misogyny of that order has no place on a blog titled for a guy nicknamed “Puddin”.
That said, you can’t screw up Mother’s Day dinner, and you can’t mail it in. All the options, though, are fraught with more peril than spending a day with He Who Shall Not Be Named. Dining out when everyone else in the free world with a mom is dining out – which, FYI, is pretty much everyone (well, except for those pod-grown clones, but that’s another post) – can lead to waiting and frustration and Just The Worst Day Ever. On the other hand, if you try to make her a special meal of her favorite salmon croquettes and the result is a plateful of some knobby mounds of greasy fish pucks after you’ve destroyed the kitchen with Hurricane Dad, you’re not exactly scoring major points.
So, the question is,
Mother’s Day Dinner: Cook for her at home or Dine out?
Drop some knowledge about your Mother’s Day situation, peeps. Let’s pro and con this bad boy.
In the meantime, I’ll be looking up croquette recipes. You know, for a friend.