First, I have to begin this post with perhaps the biggest Mother’s Day lesson of all and that is if you plan on having a wonderful family filled day outside for Mother’s day then you should not (should not) spend Saturday randomly texting co-works and neighbors to come over and experiment with different sangria recipes. You should not (not) make it your goal to get rid of (i.e. drink) the two boxes of really bad wine that you inadvertently purchased for your house warming party. Two boxes of wine for those who have not been to my house recently equates to 8 bottles of wine. Eight bottles. In one afternoon. The day before mother’s day.
This really just sets a bad scene Sunday morning when your over-eager three year old runs into your room wishing you a wonderful mother’s day and giving you homemade presents wrapped with enough tape to stop a black bear. Lucy likes to wrap up trash (backs of old stickers, grocery store receipts, etc) in construction paper with rolls of tape to keep them closed. It’s cute but hard to deal with when she is sitting on top of me and I have to pee so badly that the only thing more pressing at that moment is getting some water, water to lubricate my mouth enough to talk and to swallow the four extra strength Tylenol I know I’m
going to need just to make it to the breakfast table.
Being hung over on Mother’s day is a lot like being hung over on Christmas – totally inadvisable.
Being the consummate professional that I am I did manage to rally and make it not only downstairs, but through 3 cups of coffee and a potato and bacon omelet. I was almost feeling normal when I opened the present that Lucy made me at preschool – it was her hand prints, a really cute poem someone vaguely famous wrote about motherhood and included on the back where questions that Lucy answered:
- I love my Mom because: She buys me nice things oh no – first I rarely buy her nice things, I rely on her grandmother to do that… but I’m not very enthusiastic about this being her line of thinking. And while I’m on the subject I’m also not real enthusiastic that while reading her a bed time story last night she says to me “you know what I really love? Daddy, I can’t wait until Father’s day…” (and people wonder why I drink so much)
- My Mom loves me because: I make her smile – aw that one was really sweet, of course I would love her if she makes me smile or doesn’t – on some days there is very little smiling…
- My Mom is good at: Doing Work. Ugh… really? not giving hugs, or fixing her boo boos or playing school with her of brushing her hair or making sure every baby doll in the house is safely bedded down for the night, or reading to her sometimes for 4 or 5 hours at a time. Nope – I’m good at working. Awesome.
Next year I’m going to a spa.