I woke to the sound of shrieking children. But it was Sunday, so I rolled over and went back to sleep. On Sunday morning, they are not my children until 8:30 a.m.
I woke again with that jolt that all parents know - wait-what-time-is-it -- and remembered. It was Mother's Day. I absolved myself of the guilt of waking at nine (sloth!) and instead breathed a sigh of relief. From below, the smell of breakfast that wasn't my responsibility wafted up the stairs. No smell is quite so heavenly.
I heard the sound of Handsome's footsteps on the stairs and arranged myself beautifully in bed (managed my Medusa-like bedhead out of my eyes). As he opened the door, the sound of weeping rose from below.
"Good morning," he said cheerily.
"Good morning!" I said, awed by the site of hot french toast topped with fresh strawberries. "What ails the offspring on this fine day?"
"Well, I cooked toast," he said, offering it to me. "And then I brought it to you."
I blinked. "Wait, these are the first two pieces of toast?"
"Yes."
"Are you mad?!?" I gulped. "I mean, thank you. Thank you, my love."
"You're welcome. Happy Mother's Day." He kissed my forehead. "And now I'm going to feed them before the hysterics are irreversible."
I ate breakfast, while it was hot, and drank my coffee, while it was hot. And my dear husband brought seconds.
"By the way," he said, "you're not to concern yourself with anything this morning in the getting-ready-for-church department. You're only responsibility is yourself. You can just read and get dressed whenever."
I did not quite burst into tears of gratitude, but it was a very near thing. And I took a shower, a looong shower, and I had time to blow dry my hair. A dear friend at church informed me that I looked "beautiful" and I both thanked and believed her.
It was a lovely morning, and the two children were pictures of adorableness at church. At least, they were angelic until it was time to leave. Church, you understand, is a magical place full of people who love and adore them. To leave church is a difficult thing, and my son was quick to point out the great injustice of this life while being dragged to the car.
"But-I-wanted-da-playground!"
"Not now, sweet pea," I said gently. "It's time to go home."
"Don't-wanna-g-g-go-home!" he sobbed.
"We're going to have lunch, dearest," I said, placing a firm hand on his back and propelling him across the grass.
"I don't want lunch!"
"That can be arranged, my love," I said through gritted teeth as I helped him into his carseat.
"I want the playground! I don't want a nap!" he wailed. "I want Chik-Fil-A!"
Bending down to finish securing his straps, I said very firmly, "Beware my son. You need to think very carefully before you open your mouth again. Are you listening to me?" He sniffled and pouted. "If you speak disrespectfully one moment more, you will be very, very, very sorry."
He hiccuped and fell silent.
I stood up - and came face to face with one of the young women in our church. I had been blocking her way with the open door and my enormous backside. "Hi...." I said, smiling. "I was just... you know...."
She smiled.
"And now you know that I threaten my children," I said brightly.
The dear husband found this enormously funny as we drove away.
After the dreaded Nap, I found my son to be much more charming. He had received $5 from his great-grandparents for Easter, and this treasured bill had been the topic of much conversation between us. He had waited eagerly for a day when we could go get ice cream together. And as I was growing tired of laundering the said bill twice a week, I thought we could use the afternoon for a Mother-Son date. So Spiderman and I went off to the mall, with the bill safely in his pocket. Periodically, he would pull it out to assure himself of its existence.
We fitted him for shoes, and told the sales lady that we were getting ice cream.
We bought shoes for him and his sister and checked the status of the dollar bill. It was still in his pocket.
When we approached the play area, he held out the $5. "Mommy, you hold this," he said. "You keep it in your pocket."
"Sure," I said, immediately forgetting about it. "Are you sure you want to play here?"
"Yes," he said.
"All right. Go, be free, gather viruses," I said, resigned. I watched as he touched every possible surface, and mentally calculated the chances of our family sharing a cold for the next two weeks. After twenty minutes of sharing germs with the local populace, I told Jack that it was time for ice cream. We arrived at the Dairy Queen and ordered ice cream with M&Ms in it (bliss!)
"That will be $3.47," the cashier said.
"Would you like to pay?" I asked Jack.
He reached into his pocket and frowned. He checked the other pocket. "Mommy!" he cried. "My dollar! It's gone!" He turned out his pockets in cartoon fashion and looked forlorn.
"Oh, buddy, that's okay," I said quickly. "I will pay for it, all right?"
He nodded, relieved, and far less distressed than I had anticipated. "Okay, Mommy. You pay for it."
I handed over the plastic and the cashier swiped it.
Instantly, Spiderman turned to me and said, "Mommy, my dollar is in your pocket." He pointed.
I had completely forgotten! "Oh," I said. "Okay, here it is - "
He grabbed it and stuffed it safely back into his pocket with a grin. "Thanks."
The brilliance of his timing suddenly hit me. "You are a very clever boy, mister."
He grinned. "Yeah."
Happy Mother's Day to me - my son is an adorable charlatan. And my daughter is too pretty for her own good. But my Mother-in-Law thanked me for providing grandchildren, so I'm feeling vindicated in my career choice. After all, the long-term benefits package may not have a 401K, but it includes the chance to grow old, get crazy(ier), and surround myself with offspring that I can terrorize.
I can see me now, in an enormous purple hat, causing trouble at reunions, saying the things no one else will say out loud, being their rock during the tough times, and embarrassing them in public.
Yup. Totally worth it.
Laughed out loud. Thank you for this!
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