Ah Mother’s Day. I have a reoccurring fantasy when it comes to Mother’s Day. It involves a champagne brunch, in a beautiful setting overlooking the water, well behaved children eating quietly, chewing with their mouths closed. Peaceful. Serene. At no point does this fantasy involve X-Man climbing up on the table in pursuit of sausage. But I guess that’s what makes it a fantasy.
I’ve stopped dropping hints about brunch because my girls concoct grand plans for breakfast themselves. What they come up with is quite enjoyable, and not nearly as embarrassing should X-Man decide that this meal will be eaten sans drawers. Even though my Mother’s Day plans have never truly resembled the images I anticipate in my mind, I have enjoyed a series of delightful family days. This year was no different.
I got a head start on the celebration this year. The father figure promised the older girls that he would take them shopping so they could put their grand schemes into action. I smiled sweetly and asked if he would take all the children with him so that I could clean the house. This clearly removed one of the items on his to do list and well, how hard could it be to wrangle his heard of children?
I have to wonder what myself twenty years ago would think if someone had told me that my idea of a special day cleaning my house all by myself and yard work I would reassured them that they had confused me with my mother. But sure enough, I had a very satisfactory time. And I knew I would wake up to a clean house on Mother’s Day which was gift enough for me. The father figure returned, children in tow, just as I sat down to enjoy my peace and quiet. He was not happy. I asked him how things went; he responded “You don’t want to know.” I pressed for details and he questioned what part of “you don’t want to know” was I unclear on because seriously man it didn’t go well.
The father figure’s first mistake was letting X-Man leave the house with his arms full of minion toys. He had four minion figures and the fart gun. Yes, that delightful contraption gifted to Mac by his uncle. I had forgotten its existence, as Mac hadn’t too much interest in it, until X-Man discovered it. Indeed. Everything about it, absurd noises, flashing colors, appealed to a two year old. He dug it out of the bottom of the toy box recently and has carried it everywhere. Cinco thinks it’s hilarious as does Mac, especially when X-Man sets it off while sitting on the potty.
The father figure was of the opinion that the fart gun should not be associated with his family in public in any way, understandably. He also was concerned that the various minion figures would be lost while shopping and he anticipated much wailing and gnashing of teeth should that occur. But X-Man would have none of it. And the boy hasn’t yet learned the lesson I have, which is never get involved in a battle of wills with the father figure. Ever. So X-Man raged without his toys and the other children and their father proceeded to shop. Apparently X-Man had just calmed down when he saw a toy train that offered rides throughout the mall to small children. Because that’s a swell idea. The father figure wasn’t interested in paying the arm and leg that it cost to ride the train, so X-Man commenced his full melt down rage mode. The father figure was not impressed.
They hustled off to the grocery store to shop for the various items the girls had in mind for their brunch. It was getting late and the bloom was off the rose in the father figure’s eyes. The girls had an extensive list, based upon our Christmas and Easter menus, and as I like to grocery shop on my own, they were all lost in the store. However, they did manage to procure the last package of sausage, the particular type our family enjoys. As they selected cinnamon rolls, the father figure instructed the girls not to place them in the basket. They were beginning to question that instruction when X-Man lunge forward, grabbed the rolls and yelled “MINE!” Cinco immediately hit him and tried to take them away from her brother. The father figured asked the girls if they still had any questions. The wrestling over breakfast pastries subsided and the father figure fell into an ill-advised complacency. This was pierced by Baba’s shriek of “EWWWW!!!!” He turned to see a wad of raw sausage spit into the cart and X-Man, both hands still full of raw sausage, yelling “Gross!” At that point the father figure officially threw in the towel. He should have held onto the towel to wipe away Cinco’s tears as she was denied any raw meat.
So in the end, the father figure and my children gave me the best Mother’s Day gift possible. The father figure had to walk a couple of hours in my shoes. And he found himself admitting, it ain’t an easy stroll.
Mother’s Day itself was lovely. We had a delightful brunch, with so much food I don’t have to worry about breakfast for the next couple of days. There was lovely weather by which to work in the yard. Baba offered to fold the mountains of laundry in order to avoid yard work. Fine by me. Dinner was delicious, even if Cinco threw up afterwards.
That evening, as I was relaxing and admiring my beautiful roses, the father figure walked into the room. “I forgot to tell you. X-Man can get out of his car seat. Completely. He can unbuckle both the buckles. I don’t know how he did it, but he popped up next to me while I was driving home last night.”
Happy Mother’s Day to me.