If you had asked me three weeks ago what I wanted for mother’s day, I would have launched into a recitation of a lengthy list involving massages from hunky muscular men, pedicures, earplugs and plenty of chocolate.
When Terry found out that he was going to be taking a trip from the 3rd to the 12th, I was devastated. My dreams of sleeping in, breakfast in bed and not changing a stinky diaper all day? Shattered. My hopes of no cooking, cleaning or laundry? Gone.
Instead, I would be getting up at 6:30 with the girls, taking care of diapers, dressing them and refereeing at least three food fights during breakfast alone.
That’s what it is to be a mom, right?
Tons of work, lousy pay, no medical benefits and one day a year to recognize that we aren’t lazy asses when we spend long days at home with the kids.
On Friday, Terry decided that he missed us and would come home for the whole weekend.
Thoughts of the perfect mother’s day flashed through my mind again!
Then Terry reminded me that he would be leaving on Sunday, after we went out to lunch with his parents, sisters, brother-in-law and our nephew.
The leaving part = sad. The out to lunch part = ugh.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love going out to eat. Too much, as is apparent by that number that shows up on the scale. Terry and I gave up fast food for a year, so we can only go to a restaurant that has mostly fresh food, which eliminates 3/4 of the restaurants nearby.
I also have a fear of going out to eat with a large group of people, especially if the restaurant is busy. There will be 8 adults and 3 kids, 2 of which are mine.
Our girls go into destruction mode the minute our feet hit the restaurant floor. They holler as we try to strap them down in the dirty, over-used high chairs. As soon as we offer them foods that they normally like, they scream and throw the food either at us or on the floor.
The waitresses coo at the girls’ adorable faces, large smiles and the fact that the kids will go home with us, not them.
The girls whine for cookies, cake, ice cream, an IV of straight sugar, whatever they see that involves sweet yummy goodness.
After this public display of horror (from my perspective), Mommy pulls out half her hair out and in a frazzled daze, orders the entire dessert menu and then cries in the bathroom.
I’ve changed my mind.
For mother’s day, I want to get up at 6:30, change diapers, dress my beautiful princesses and sit back to watch the food fights ensue. Just please, PLEASE don’t make me go out to eat!
Happy Mother’s Day :)