My Mother’s Day

When I was a child I remember trying to do things for my mother for Mother’s Day. I remember all of the cheesy crafts I would make for her; I think she actually liked them. I remember attempts to serve her breakfast in bed, largely unsuccessful because my dad can’t cook and I hadn’t yet learned. I specifically remember taking the very last egg we had in the fridge and trying to poach it, but ending up with this little soggy yellow lump on a plate because I didn’t know about vinegar. And I remember all of the times we reluctantly tried to clean up the house because we knew she would like it. Our efforts were often pathetic, and I’m sure at times disappointing but I think the thought was appreciated for the most part, she was after all our mother.

I have very little expectation for my version of mother’s day. It keeps me from getting disappointed and is a good deal more realistic. It’s good that I wasn’t expecting anything because this is how my day has gone so far. The Girl woke up and asked for her morning nursing time around 6:30 as usual we both fell back asleep right away. The Boy woke up and came in to demand, “Mom, I want you to wake up now.”

Half an hour later he returns without any clothes on and needs the poop wiped off of his butt. I make him wait a little bit longer hoping to sneak away from his mostly sleeping sister without waking her. I finally run out of patience, I have to pee, I’m pregnant and need to eat or I’ll puke, and there is a boy out there with poop drying onto his butt. So I disengage and she rolls over and I tell her, as I do every time this scenario plays itself out, that Mommy has to go but I will come back and she responds with outright fury, screaming her indignation as well as crying because she wants me to stay. I walk away to do what needs to be done, while the Genius husband, for some reason awake now, helps her to deal with her temper tantrum telling her what is and isn’t an appropriate response. By the time I get back to her she is quiet with a couple of whiny “nursing” demands punctuating the silence. I take her with me to get breakfast, hoping I can eat before morning sickness sets in. The Genius husband returns to slumber land where he remains at this very moment. I get breakfast for two children and myself.

As I type my living room floor is littered with things that I didn’t put there. Several pairs of my husband’s shoes and dirty socks lying around, plus one pair of work shorts, another pair of pants, a dangerously in the middle of the floor laptop in its bag, several couch cushions with the covers unzipped and a whole bunch of little pink papers from a note pad that the kids were pretending to write notes on and give to me, some stuffed animals, one little white sandal, a wool hat, a bag of painter’s rags, and garbage. It’s actually looking much better because my kids just picked up all of their coloring books and crayons that their daddy knocked on the floor instead of placing neatly somewhere because he wanted to use their coloring table to clean his guns last night while we watched a movie. (I know, this is really weird, but a friend invited him shooting so he got his old guns and some of his dad’s and went shooting on Friday.) We have never had guns in our house before last night; they are kept in his dad’s gun locker. But now we have between five or ten hidden under the couch so the kids don’t get them. They aren’t loaded and we have no rounds, but it still feels weird to me.

Later today we are driving all the way to Murrieta to a mother’s day BBQ hosted by his grandparents. I’m sure he thinks that their efforts to celebrate the day are more than enough and it hasn’t even occurred to him that I might like something as simple as not having to clean up after him or the kids for one day, and have it still clean, or maybe get to sleep for a while in the morning, or even a cheesy craft. As a result of the BBQ we are not even attending church this morning as it is a 40 minute drive in the opposite direction and it’s too much driving for one day considering gas prices and my motion sickness, so I will not even get the obligatory flower or whatever little thing they give out there. I actually like these, though I know many women who don’t, maybe because it’s the only thing I get and even if it was a complete stranger who organized it I feel as though someone remembered me on this day and said thank-you, and I like flowers.

So this is probably a depressing read, though I don’t feel at all depressed, just a little tired and nauseous which is due to another aspect of motherhood, just an observation of how my day has been thus far. It’s basically just another day, which is what it really is without Hallmark propaganda to build up our expectations and bring most of us disappointment. I’ll let you know if anything changes.

Update:
Well the genius husband and the kids did clean up much of the mess out here, after I puked for the first time this pregnancy. He thought I would feel better after that if he got lucky. He also got lunch for the kids so I wouldn’t have to smell anything offensive while my stomach recovered. (Sigh of relief, they wanted salmon.) I had a great talk with my mother. The BBQ was fun, the kids swam. The girl can swim the entire length of GG’s pool with water wings on by herself! GG gave me card which is odd since she is the great grandmother, but I liked it, and the cash. We brought my little sister in law home for the night as she needs to use our high speed internet in order to finish up a final project for one of her college courses. She came in and organized a clean up in which the husband VACUUMED while she cleared the table and loaded and unloaded the dish washer. I love her. Now I’m going to bed.