the perfect mother's day...
...for a Mom whose kids apparently wish she had a penis (or who find the calendar confusing and believe it to actually be Father's Day):
- a breakfast of generic Pop Tarts (the cubic zirconium of toaster pastries) and milk. Wrappers, crumbs and the gallon milk jug left to warm on the counter for Mom to come downstairs 30 minutes later to discover, pick up, and put away.
- Lots of sports. The talking of, watching of, and participating in. Lots. By the way? There is lots of sports.
- Including the sport of "Smell it!" which renders Mom marginally scared and highly confused. Who taught these children how to belch like this? And seriously. What is that smell?
- An afternoon showing of Iron Man, where Mom finds herself to be the lone woman in a bastion of men. The only mom in the area, it seems, who fought back when the men of the house suggested giving their wives/mothers time to herself on Mother's Day because she once dreamt of licking Robert Downey Jr.'s sharp goatee. This achievement (being the only woman in the place, not the goatee licking) is cemented when it's determined the three year old twins seated behind her, the ones who keep asking their dad in their high pitched voices, "Is him a good guy or a bad guy? I need to potty! Is him dead now? Does him die now? Why him doing that? I need to potty! Him bad now? When him be Iron Man?" are, in fact, boys. The Mom silently thanks them for asking their questions, though, because event though it's annoying as hell, their dad's answers keep her from having to ask her husband similar questions in her own high pitched voice.
- And the theater? It smelled. Seriously. What is that smell?
- A dinner menu consisting of Mom's choice of pizza or sub sandwiches. Thirty minutes after the last of the pizza is consumed and Mom begins to wonder who's going to pack up leftovers and pick up the kitchen, she gets up and takes care of it.
It wasn't a bad day. Nope. Not even plastic yard flowers shoved in a bucket filled with cat litter and presented to me by my youngest son (again, because he first gave them to me a week ago when he sneaked up on me in my bathroom and scared me to death) could have made it a bad day.
But on Father's Day?
On Father's Day, there will be breakfast in bed and no talk of wrestling. There will be no belching for points and unidentifiable smells. And there will be an afternoon matinee of Sex and The City.
Mom's can get confused reading a calendar, too!