Muthah!
I don't like Mother's Day. Sure, the concept is good and the intentions noble. But really, who winds up doing the most work on Mother's Day? Good old Mom.
Before I had kids I loved Mother's Day. Went out and got Mom a corsage to wear to church. And while I was at it, I'd get myself one. Take her out to dinner and ate myself. Hell, my brother's and I would eat our weight in chocolate cheesecake at the breakfast buffet! Yay! What's not to like, right?
Then I had kids. That's when I realized that Mother's Day isn't about mothers. It is about children and grandmothers. Those are the only ones having any fun on Mother's Day. Really. I spent the two weeks leading up to today helping my kids make their grandmothers cards and some crafts. I shopped around for gifts I thought they'd like. I organized it all, boxed it, filled out customs forms, stood in a long line at the Post Office, and still the packages didn't get there on time. I'll hear about that. Oh, yeah, I will.
This Mother's Day for me was okay. I cannot say it sucked. And it sure as hell wasn't grand. Mike did his best. He let me sleep in. All the way till 8am I slept. Of course, since I sleep on the foot of the bed like a fucking dog due to my two children taking up most of our king sized bed, this only means that I can hardly move my head since my neck is stiff and my back has been screaming all day. One isn't meant to spend more than just a few hours curled up into a 14 inch ball. At least not at my age. By the way, if I ever see that pansy-ass Dr. Sears I'm punching him square in the chest! Fuck him and that attachment parenting shit. A rant for a later post.
When I was finally able to pull my decrepit body out of bed, Mike had a nice pot of coffee made and waiting for me. No breakfast, though. Mike cannot cook. No, not even scrambled eggs. I'm not sure he knows how to crack an egg. Not that he'd need to crack an egg given the advent of Egg Beaters. Regardless, crack or no crack, no breakfast. Huh. Now that I'm thinking about it, we even have already cooked bacon in the house. Nuke the bacon for a minute or two. Pour a carton of Egg Beaters into a pan. That's not even cooking. Great. I'm all worked up about breakfast now and it is almost 11pm.
Anyway, I then got my gift. It was very sweet. Reilly Kate was so excited about giving it to me. Roman, too, although he wanted to open it himself. It was a gorgeous amethyst tennis bracelet. Unfortunately, Mike already gave me one of those a few years back. It's a close enough match that RK never noticed the difference when I put the old one on. We'll take the new one back. It's too expensive to keep a double. Maybe I'll buy myself some pearls in Shanghai when we go at the end of the month. Or maybe I'll parlay it into a fortune at the slot machines on base and then set off for Thailand and a new set of boobs. Again, it is the thought that counts.
We went to mass today, too. Roman must have been briefed on the whole Mother's Day means Mom works harder concept because as soon as we were settled into our pew, he became demon possessed. Wailing, twisting, slapping, slurping, screeching, jumping, munching, and for his finale, throwing raisins at our fellow parishioners. At one point, as I was wrestling a writhing Roman, I heard, in chorus, several other young children belting out an unholy hymn of displeasure. I looked around and saw many, many other mothers doing just as I was. We were working. Working hard. As an extra special treat, our child-free priest (or at least I assume he is) bestowed upon us an extraordinarily long mass -- an hour and a half. I guess the additional 30 minutes was a little Mother's Day gift. Someone should tell him to bring Egg Beaters and microwave bacon next year instead.
From there we went shopping. Not the kind of shopping that we do in the States. Asian shopping Korean style. Namdaemun Market. Big, rude crowds shoving each other to and fro. Pushy sellers hawking their cheap crap in high pitched chants. Tiny alley ways overstuffed with humanity and all its consumer trappings. And stinky street food of several hundred different varieties. To me, nothing says Happy Mother's Day more than an afternoon in such surroundings with my husband and children on best behavior. I guess they forget what day it was because we weren't in the buyer's extravaganza five minutes before Reilly Kate demanded McDonalds and Mike had a teenage flashback, complete with telling me to "Shut the fuck up." Roman opted to sleep, which was good. He was already living on borrowed time.
All in all, I argued with my daughter, got the silent treatment from my husband, lost a bartering war with an old lady selling little girls shorts and wound up paying 10 bucks for a pair that were coming apart at the seams, bought three shirts for myself totaling $15 when the sign clearly said "3 for 10," ate undercooked street squid out of a newspaper bag, and had the realization that I should have just stayed curled up at the foot of the bed all day.
We did go out for a wonderful steak at our friend's pub. Believe it or not, the ribeye at the 3 Alley Pub is the same price as the restaurants on base and so much better. It was nice to have a beer in the sunlight with a cool breeze as Mike corralled the kids on the outdoor patio. Those few minutes alone with my steak and my beer made the whole stinkin' day.
Oh, and one other thing that really made my day. This card below from Reilly Kate. She made it all by herself. She went and stole a piece of printer paper (a big NO NO in my house), sat down with a ball point pen (yet another NO NO) and wrote this down all by herself. She asked me a few questions as I was making dinner one night last week. "What two letters make the [th] sound?" "How do you spell your first name?" I didn't know what she was up to. She makes all kinds of silly things for herself. That's what I figured this was. Nope. It was my first handmade, all by herself Mother's Day card.
Look at the first two letters. She sounded out "Happy" and came up with "H" and "B." If you make the "h" sound and follow it up with saying the word "bee" you get what kind of sounds like "Happy" or at least to a 4 year old. Then comes "Mother" missing the vowels and with the "th" flipped. The "R" and the "D" were merged into one she said because she was afraid of running out of room. Anyway, that was my proud Mama moment.
There there it is. A recap of Mother's Day 2006. I can't wait till Mother's Day 2030. I'm going to swing on a hammock all day long, sipping scotch and chain smoking Camels. I'll have my pockets filled with chocolate covered espresso beans which I'll hand out in generous handfuls to my grandchildren and then watch as those sugared up, caffeine junkies destroy their parents' tranquility. I ain't takin' my husband out of the nursing home that day either.
Hee hee!
Happy Mother's Day!
Before I had kids I loved Mother's Day. Went out and got Mom a corsage to wear to church. And while I was at it, I'd get myself one. Take her out to dinner and ate myself. Hell, my brother's and I would eat our weight in chocolate cheesecake at the breakfast buffet! Yay! What's not to like, right?
Then I had kids. That's when I realized that Mother's Day isn't about mothers. It is about children and grandmothers. Those are the only ones having any fun on Mother's Day. Really. I spent the two weeks leading up to today helping my kids make their grandmothers cards and some crafts. I shopped around for gifts I thought they'd like. I organized it all, boxed it, filled out customs forms, stood in a long line at the Post Office, and still the packages didn't get there on time. I'll hear about that. Oh, yeah, I will.
This Mother's Day for me was okay. I cannot say it sucked. And it sure as hell wasn't grand. Mike did his best. He let me sleep in. All the way till 8am I slept. Of course, since I sleep on the foot of the bed like a fucking dog due to my two children taking up most of our king sized bed, this only means that I can hardly move my head since my neck is stiff and my back has been screaming all day. One isn't meant to spend more than just a few hours curled up into a 14 inch ball. At least not at my age. By the way, if I ever see that pansy-ass Dr. Sears I'm punching him square in the chest! Fuck him and that attachment parenting shit. A rant for a later post.
When I was finally able to pull my decrepit body out of bed, Mike had a nice pot of coffee made and waiting for me. No breakfast, though. Mike cannot cook. No, not even scrambled eggs. I'm not sure he knows how to crack an egg. Not that he'd need to crack an egg given the advent of Egg Beaters. Regardless, crack or no crack, no breakfast. Huh. Now that I'm thinking about it, we even have already cooked bacon in the house. Nuke the bacon for a minute or two. Pour a carton of Egg Beaters into a pan. That's not even cooking. Great. I'm all worked up about breakfast now and it is almost 11pm.
Anyway, I then got my gift. It was very sweet. Reilly Kate was so excited about giving it to me. Roman, too, although he wanted to open it himself. It was a gorgeous amethyst tennis bracelet. Unfortunately, Mike already gave me one of those a few years back. It's a close enough match that RK never noticed the difference when I put the old one on. We'll take the new one back. It's too expensive to keep a double. Maybe I'll buy myself some pearls in Shanghai when we go at the end of the month. Or maybe I'll parlay it into a fortune at the slot machines on base and then set off for Thailand and a new set of boobs. Again, it is the thought that counts.
We went to mass today, too. Roman must have been briefed on the whole Mother's Day means Mom works harder concept because as soon as we were settled into our pew, he became demon possessed. Wailing, twisting, slapping, slurping, screeching, jumping, munching, and for his finale, throwing raisins at our fellow parishioners. At one point, as I was wrestling a writhing Roman, I heard, in chorus, several other young children belting out an unholy hymn of displeasure. I looked around and saw many, many other mothers doing just as I was. We were working. Working hard. As an extra special treat, our child-free priest (or at least I assume he is) bestowed upon us an extraordinarily long mass -- an hour and a half. I guess the additional 30 minutes was a little Mother's Day gift. Someone should tell him to bring Egg Beaters and microwave bacon next year instead.
From there we went shopping. Not the kind of shopping that we do in the States. Asian shopping Korean style. Namdaemun Market. Big, rude crowds shoving each other to and fro. Pushy sellers hawking their cheap crap in high pitched chants. Tiny alley ways overstuffed with humanity and all its consumer trappings. And stinky street food of several hundred different varieties. To me, nothing says Happy Mother's Day more than an afternoon in such surroundings with my husband and children on best behavior. I guess they forget what day it was because we weren't in the buyer's extravaganza five minutes before Reilly Kate demanded McDonalds and Mike had a teenage flashback, complete with telling me to "Shut the fuck up." Roman opted to sleep, which was good. He was already living on borrowed time.
All in all, I argued with my daughter, got the silent treatment from my husband, lost a bartering war with an old lady selling little girls shorts and wound up paying 10 bucks for a pair that were coming apart at the seams, bought three shirts for myself totaling $15 when the sign clearly said "3 for 10," ate undercooked street squid out of a newspaper bag, and had the realization that I should have just stayed curled up at the foot of the bed all day.
We did go out for a wonderful steak at our friend's pub. Believe it or not, the ribeye at the 3 Alley Pub is the same price as the restaurants on base and so much better. It was nice to have a beer in the sunlight with a cool breeze as Mike corralled the kids on the outdoor patio. Those few minutes alone with my steak and my beer made the whole stinkin' day.
Oh, and one other thing that really made my day. This card below from Reilly Kate. She made it all by herself. She went and stole a piece of printer paper (a big NO NO in my house), sat down with a ball point pen (yet another NO NO) and wrote this down all by herself. She asked me a few questions as I was making dinner one night last week. "What two letters make the [th] sound?" "How do you spell your first name?" I didn't know what she was up to. She makes all kinds of silly things for herself. That's what I figured this was. Nope. It was my first handmade, all by herself Mother's Day card.
Look at the first two letters. She sounded out "Happy" and came up with "H" and "B." If you make the "h" sound and follow it up with saying the word "bee" you get what kind of sounds like "Happy" or at least to a 4 year old. Then comes "Mother" missing the vowels and with the "th" flipped. The "R" and the "D" were merged into one she said because she was afraid of running out of room. Anyway, that was my proud Mama moment.
There there it is. A recap of Mother's Day 2006. I can't wait till Mother's Day 2030. I'm going to swing on a hammock all day long, sipping scotch and chain smoking Camels. I'll have my pockets filled with chocolate covered espresso beans which I'll hand out in generous handfuls to my grandchildren and then watch as those sugared up, caffeine junkies destroy their parents' tranquility. I ain't takin' my husband out of the nursing home that day either.
Hee hee!
Happy Mother's Day!
posted by The Histrionics of a Fat Housewife at 8:16 AM
1 Comments:
LOVE the post... I'm a Muthah too... My day consisted of washing the dishes my husband made the night before while making me dinner and then trying to enjoy some painting while the kids tried to help me.... while daddy tried to nap in the basement. Then I made supper and did those dishes.
BUT... I did buy myself an easel for my gift AND hubby did close up the hen house and let the dogs in before bed... LOL! aside from that it was just like any other Sunday!
Good thing I love being a muthah!
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