Look, I’m a mom. And you know what I don’t want for Mother’s Day? Fucking flowers. Maybe I’m a weirdo, but here’s how I see it: Not only are flowers expensive — and always way overpriced on holidays like Mother’s Day and Valentine’s Day — they’re definitely going to die and probably going to give me a headache because I’m allergic to pretty much everything. And you know who will have to clean up the pollen and fallen petals and water that smells like dead Swamp Thing in a week? Me. I’d rather have a sturdy plant.
Except what I really want for Mother’s Day is to be transported back to the bathtub in the Four Seasons my husband and I stayed in a few years ago (only because we had a friend who worked there and he gave us the broken, haunted-ass room at a discount). The tub was, like, six feet long and it didn’t hurt my neck and there was a fucking TV embedded in the bathroom mirror (because apparently when you’re rich, you live in the future). I want to be in that bathtub, all alone, all day. But I don’t really want to be alone, because I want Olivia Pope and her Gladiators (or something equally mindless) on that TV and I also want someone (who won’t talk to me or ask me for anything) to bring me cocktails. And probably a big glass of ice water with lemon in between each drink because when I sleep all alone in my imaginary Four Seasons king-size bed with clean sheets and freshly shaved legs I want to enjoy my 12-hour slumber and not wake up all hot and sweaty and half drunk/half hungover in the middle of the night, unable to go back to sleep. Because that is the fucking worst — at least when you have a very young child.
But I’m a realist. I’m probably not getting my own room at the Four Seasons (though, let’s be honest, I’d take a night alone at a god-damn Motel 6 at this point) and my husband has yet to make any brunch reservations (which is probably a good thing). If I’m lucky, I might get an hour alone on Mother’s Day to wander aimlessly in a TJ Maxx or West Elm, and after my kid goes to bed I’ll likely sneak a soak in my small, shitty tub surrounded by rubber duckies and hope that my wonderful spouse has the good sense to use the downstairs bathroom should he need to relieve himself during my me time.
Still, even though the conditions are less than ideal, you can bet your flower-loving ass I’m going to drink cocktails in the bathtub on Sunday. Specifically the Mother’s Little Helper, a refreshing gin-based drink. It’s sort of like getting flowers because it’s made with St. Germain elderflower liqueur (which is flowery as fuck, but in a good way) and Hendrick’s gin (known for its cucumber and flowery notes). But it’s so much better than flowers. Especially when consumed in solitude.
Of course, it would be just as good during brunch with your lovely family, even if there are actual overpriced flowers involved.
Mother’s Little Helper
2 ounces Hendrick’s Gin
1 ounce St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur
1 ounce fresh-squeezed lime juice
1/2 ounce simple syrup
Lime wheel (or a fucking flower) for garnish
Add the gin, elderflower liqueur, lime juice, and simple syrup to an old fashioned or stemless wine glass. Stir well, then add a handful of ice. Top it off with club soda and garnish with whatever pretty little thing you want to put on it.
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