So … You all know what I was expecting to happen on Mother’s Day. And believe me, my expectations were low – and I don’t mean that in a negative way, I mean that I had managed my own expectations. I kept them in check & I didn’t think they were unreasonable. Looking back, I realize that what I was expecting was a fantasy Mother’s Day, albeit a fantasy that was seemingly within reach. And the fact that The Husband had a beautiful bouquet of flowers delivered to me on Friday was a sure sign that my expectations were right on the mark. Um, yeah.
In my fantasy, I would wake up to a the smells of breakfast cooking, and in The Boy and The Husband would stroll, (The Boy would be dressed,) breakfast tray carried by The Husband, small gift bag containing a mystery gift, and/or cards carried by The Boy. They would watch me open them up, telling me what an amazing mother I am, how much they loved me, yada yada yada, and I would nibble lazily on my griddle cakes whilst sipping my coffee …
In reality, I woke up & couldn’t really make out any smells. I called out that I was awake, but no one answered. I grabbed my iPhone and texted The Husband that his lovely wife was now awake & ready for some pampering. Surely I didn’t want to spoil their surprises by getting OUT of bed & coming to find them!
Minutes went by and I could hear The Husband negotiating with The Boy to bring in my cards. There was bribing and threats. Then more minutes went by, and the door flung open followed by a very rambunctious Boy, half naked, hair wild, running toward me, waving cards in his hand and screaming. Too early for screaming unless alcohol was involved, and it wasn’t.
I opened the card from The Boy and he grabbed it away, nearly ripping the card. I retrieved it and thanked him, kissed him, and we discussed the card at length. There was a blue dog on the front & The Boy was very impressed with this dog. I was impressed that he had chosen the card himself.
Then I opened the card from The Husband. Out fell a lottery ticket that The Boy tried to confiscate! I seized the ticket and he fought me, in tears, nearly ripping it into pieces! All I could think was “this is the winning ticket and this kid is going to destroy it and I will never forgive him … and I’ll never be able to afford his college tuition without this winning ticket!!” It was stressful to say the least. The Husband was nowhere to be found at this juncture.
Then came the breakfast tray carried by The Husband with room temperature griddle cakes & a bowl of berries. The bowl was not filled to the brim with berries, rather, it was a like a ration of berries. As though berries were some very expensive commodity & we could only afford to purchase 3 strawberries a month. No juice, no coffee. Syrup and butter on the side. Question: How are you supposed to spread butter on a nearly cold griddle cake? It doesn’t melt. So either you skip the butter altogether, OR you eat a thin layer of butter on top of your chilly griddle cake. I know, I know, “First World Problems.” I should praise the effort, and I did.
The husband left me alone with the tray full of food and The Boy while he went to get me some beverages.
During this time, The (wild) Boy was jumping around the bed, trying to crawl under the breakfast tray, wanted to lay on my lap & also stole all of my raspberries! NOT RELAXING!
I ended up hand-feeding him a griddle cake to avoid getting syrup all over my bed and us. The Husband made his entrance again with coffee in hand and there was NO WAY I could drink it with this crazy kid flailing about – I nearly spilled twice while trying to get enough of it in my gullet to deal with the situation! When I asked The Husband if he could remove said child so that I could eat, Husband, (on the verge of a meltdown,) proclaimed that he needed to nap because he had been up for hours. So I was on my own.
Not that I’m complaining … Ok, maybe I am.
I will spare you the details about needing to make brownies & discovering that we were out of eggs and The Husband nearly having a stroke because I asked him to run to the store, and all that nonsense. I will skip right to when we get in the car and head to The Grandparents house for more festivities. The Husband & I “restarted” the day, kissed, made up and smiled as we drove off for our 90 minute trip to my parents’ house.
I had The Boy all dressed in a cute outfit, hair perfectly gelled and iPad, water, snacks and other accoutrements at the ready for our trip down the 405 on a Mother’s Day Sunday.
Cut to: The Boy eating a PB&J. Then barfing. ALL. OVER. THE. @#($&% CAR. Off the road we pull, strip him down, clean him up, change his clothes, clean up the car seat, put him back in, stop at Del Taco to pee & continue on with our journey. Ok. I don’t know about you, but puke was NOT in my Mother’s Day directive! Thankfully the fact that it was Mother’s Day relieved me from clean-up duty, and when I got to my parent’s house I was greeted with a large glass of Chardonnay.
We then proceeded to have fun, grill ribs, open gifts, hug and kiss and laugh. Ah, that’s motherhood. That’s life.
So, in summary, although Mother’s Day did not go as planned, as expected or as fantasized, it was all in all a pretty good day. May have gotten off to a rocky start, but at the end of the day, when I looked back over all of it, I smiled, chuckled lightly and thought this was one I would never forget. All that really matters is having your family around you … and family is imperfect. Well, at least mine is imperfect. And I wouldn’t change that for the world. Because you know what I say: You don’t have to be perfect to be awesome.