Happy Mother's Day

Yes, I know this is a day late.  I had a beautiful post in my head on Saturday night - a tribute to all of the mothers in my life and all that they have done for me.  I have especially been missing my Ma-Ma and my Bunk, and wanted to write about them. 

But that didn't happen.

(And you know that when I write a single sentence fragment as a whole paragraph, that I am getting ready to launch into a rant, right?)

Where did we get the idea that Mother's Day is this glorious time where everyone celebrates mom and caters to her every desire?  Because that has never happened at my house.  Not even a little bit.  Never.  At my house, my husband (whom I love, but for the purpose of this story is not the hero) gets up and leaves for work on Mother's Day before I have even considered getting out of bed.  Because it is Sunday and that is what pastors do on a Sunday.  Except, oh yeah, I did get out of bed several times in the wee hours of the morning to help one kid vomit into the toilet after eating too much junk food at a baseball game last night.  Oh yeah, and to get another crying child out of his bed and into mine before he woke up three other children.  (Although in the husband's defense, he did take the crying child from me so that I could go back to sleep for a little while before I had to get up.  Maybe he is the hero of the story.  Or at least one of them. Huh.)

Then Mom has to get the children who are neither crying nor vomiting ready for church and there on time (or at least within 30 minutes of said time for church).  When the children and husband arrive back home from church, the four smallest of the crew want to sit on Mom's lap at the same time.  Which is lovely in sentiment and theory, but is distressing to a mother who wants to avoid two of said children from cold cocking each other.

At which point Mom goes into the kitchen to get some water.  And realizes that no one has bothered to clean up one single dish from the lunch that she cooked.  On Mother's Day.  And so she clears the table, loads the dishwasher, washes the dishes that don't go into the dishwasher, wipes down counters and table, sweeps the floor, and at some point realizes that she needs an escape hatch.

At which point Mom grabs the Kindle, the car keys, and her wallet and leaves.

After cooling off for an hour or so, Mom decides she misses the little boogers and goes back to get the two bigs for a movie date.  Mom and her big boys really do enjoy themselves, and this is the one point in the story where true appreciation is shown to Mom.  Because she did something she never ever ever does.  She let them watch a PG-13 movie.  And so naturally the bigs are very appreciative and kind.  And Mom can't believe she stooped so low just to get a thank you out of her children.


Upon returning to the nest, the smallest bird has decided that he Does. Not. Like. It. when Mom thinks that she can just up and leave and then she returns and expects everything to be normal.  Oh, no.  No, he decides he is not happy with Mama for that one.  And he spends the next few hours refusing to let her give him a bottle, look her in the eye, or let her put him to bed. 


I wish I could say that Mother's Day is typically a really great day for us, but honestly, this story is typical of my Mother's Days.  Except we don't usually throw attachment issues in there.  That one was a new bonus for Mother's Day. 


And now you know why, when Tim asks me what I want for Mother's Day, I tell him I want to crawl in bed.