Each year on this day, my mother asked for the exact same
thing, which was to be left alone—preferably on our sun deck in her
seasons-old threadbare bikini, with a tube of Bain de Soleil, a
crossword puzzle and an issue of Vogue on the ground next to her lounger and a Tab poured over ice.
Any opportunity I offer my child—from walking the dog to taking piano
lessons to learning about tsunamis through wild bathtub splashing (who
wouldn’t want to do that?!?)—is met with a definitive
oh-hell-to-the-N-O! It’s unbearably frustrating to be on the receiving
end of such assholery.