Mother’s Day 2016

Let me just be blunt.

None of y’all had a Mother’s Day as lovely as I did.  I’m sorry, but it’s true, even though yesterday morning didn’t start out being filled with spring lilacs and glitter.

Yesterday morning, after having already been up with Thing 2 TWICE in the middle of the night (Thank you, Potty Training.  You have now convinced my preschool son that he needs to pee every morning, ’round about 2 AM.), I got up early with him…

… while Hubs stayed in bed.

Oh, lest you think he’s a savage beast, I’ll let you know that Hubs only slept on for twenty more minutes, but STILL.  Isn’t it the mama who’s supposed to sleep late on Mother’s Day morning?  Because twenty extra minutes of sleep, to the mother of a preschooler, is the equivalent of a college kid waking up at 1:30 in the afternoon.

When Hubs finally got out of bed, he mumbled, “Happy Mother’s Day,” and got on with the whole coffee-making process, which would fire up his brain and let him carry on civil conversations with real humans throughout the day.

There were no flowers.

There was no box of chocolates.

There were no tender hugs.

There were no diamond bracelets.

(Because?  On an entirely different note, Hubs read a news article out loud to me last week about how someone found one of the ten largest diamonds in the history of diamond-finding, and they sold it, for something like three hundred jagillion-badillion American dollars.  I asked Hubs, “Had you found that diamond, would YOU have sold it?  Or kept it?”  Without batting an eye, Hubs replied, “Sold it!  For sure!  I have absolutely no need of a diamond!”)

(He said that with a straight face, while I was sitting in a chair, two feet away from him.)

(Goodbye, diamond bracelets.  It was nice thinking of you, but Hubs prefers the cash.)


Earlier last week, Thing 2 had heard an advertisement on the radio for Mother’s Day.  He asked what Mother’s Day was all about, so I told him.  Then he asked WHEN Mother’s Day would be, and I told him that it was on Sunday, the day we go to church.  That was last Thursday, people!  So yesterday morning, when he first popped out of bed, Thing 2 asked me, “What are we doing today?”  I told him that we were going to church, and then he grinned and yelled, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy!”

He moved himself straight into the territory of BEING MY FAVORITE with that one for a few minutes.

But yes.  Coffee-making continued.  Coffee-sipping followed.  And still there was no indication that this Mother’s Day would be any different than… say… any other Sunday in the history of plain-Jane Sundays.

The boy got out of bed, showered, and shuffled to the kitchen for cereal.

I greeted him with a big smile and a heartfelt hug, and he greeted me with, “Who drank all the milk?  I have none for the Fruity Pebbles!”


We went to church.

To say that I went with a thankful heart would be lying to Jesus, so I’ll just be brutally honest:  I went to church filled with some bitterness and some growling, grouching attitude.  As we walked down the hallway, Sister and three other friends, who were all standing together, hollered out, “Happy Mother’s Day!” to me.  I turned, and in one of my finer moments replied, RIGHT IN FRONT OF HUBS AND THE BOY, “Yes!  Yes, it’s MOTHER’S DAY!  MOTHER’S DAY!!!  WHICH IS FOR MOTHER’S, AND IT’S THE TIME WHEN YOU TELL YOUR MOTHER HOW MUCH YOU LOVE HER!!!!”  The boy gave me a lopsided grin, and immediately disappeared into his Sunday school classroom, without saying a single word.

Hubs gave me a grin, and immediately walked off with Thing 2, to deposit him in HIS Sunday school classroom.

And I took my grouchiness straight to the sanctuary, where our pastor preached a perfectly wonderful sermon that was meant for me and my angry little heart to hear.  I did a little talking to Jesus quietly in my head, and Jesus softly replied, “It’s okay, and I still love you; now just finish your day with a better heart.”

And then church was over.

And then Hubs and the boy and a couple other husbands and their children were suddenly pulling out bags of potato chips and packages of hot dogs and big jugs of juice in our church youth room.


And then our darling friend, Ciara, who is fifteen and probably more mature than I am, was cutting up vegetables for a veggie tray.

I asked, “Are we eating lunch out here?  What are y’all doing?”


And then suddenly, here were Sister and all of our close girlfriends, and lots of dads and lots of kids, and every mama in there was slightly puzzled, because WHY ARE Y’ALL BOILING HOT DOGS ON THE CHURCH STOVE?!

And then one of the dads passed out movie tickets to our little band of moms and announced, “We have pre-paid movie tickets for you, and we’ve made a brunch reservation for you at a swanky restaurant downtown.  You’re all to go together, have lunch together, see a movie together, and have some girl time.  While you’re doing that, all of us dads are going to keep the kids here at the church.  We’re having hot dogs, chips and veggies for lunch, and we have games for everyone to play all afternoon.”


And then it sounded like a nuclear explosion had just occurred, as six mamas all began jumping up and down, shouting out, “OH, MY GOODNESS!  OH, WOW!!!  THIS IS SO COOL!!!!  THIS IS THE BEST THING OF EVER!!!!”  We all bounced around and hugged like we had just won the lottery, which… let’s face it… we pretty much had.


Six dads got together, and with the help of fifteen-year-old  Ciara, who added a touch of feminine wisdom to the event planning, and the boy, who was in on it, too, they booked us a pre-paid afternoon out.  It included brunch and a movie and us girls just being together, without needing to tell any young children to SIT UP AND EAT YOUR DINNER, or STOP PESTERING YOUR BROTHER, or DON’T POUR THE SALT ALL OVER THE TABLE, or QUIT HANGING UPSIDE DOWN OFF YOUR CHAIR AND JUST EAT, ALREADY!   FOR THE LOVE!!!  They had lunch all organized for the kiddos, and an afternoon itinerary that included playground time and baseball time and running games and scheduled potty breaks.

And some of us girls had arrived at church earlier yesterday morning, feeling neglected and beaten down because THEY HAD ALL FORGOTTEN MOTHER’S DAY.

So… we went out.

It was one of the most fun things I’ve done in a long, long time.

We had mimosas, people.  Do you know what they don’t serve at restaurants with playlands, which are the only restaurants we frequent these days?  That would be the mimosas!  We had linen napkins and real crystal goblets for the water.  We had fancy dinner plates that were worthy of pictures.  And we talked and laughed, and laughed and talked, and sampled everyone’s meals, and laughed and talked some more.

IMG_2538We got to see the movie Mother’s Day, which was hysterical.  We laughed and bawled our heads off, because we were all emotional from the orange juice and champagne and the fact that our husbands had surprised us so well.

And all the while, the dads held things down at the church, while the kids ran wild in and out of the building.

We decided that THAT needed to be made into a movie, entitled Six Dads and Nineteen Kids (Because YES!  Nineteen kids between our six families!), until someone suggested that such a movie had already been made…

… Daddy Day Care.

People, it was absolutely the perfect Mother’s Day, and we’re all still in shock that six men managed to pull all the event planning off without a single one of us moms knowing.

In other words, ENORMOUS SURPRISE.


And, as Hubs later announced, “I stayed at the church with nineteen children and ate BOILED HOT DOGS.  Boiled.  Hot dogs.  I haven’t had a boiled hot dog since I was seven, but we didn’t have a grill.”

The sacrifice on the dads’ part was plentiful.

After the movie wrapped up, our little group of six mamas felt refreshed and renewed.  We were all ready to tackle another week of little bottoms needing wiped after using the potty, and teenagers needing rides EVERYWHERE, and dinners needing made EVERY SINGLE NIGHT, and laundry piling up, and groceries needing fetched, and bathroom sinks flooding when the Matchbox cars were washed, and children arguing, and floors needing mopped.

That’s what our husbands gave to us:


And Jesus gave us all forgiveness for feeling so grouchy first thing yesterday morning, when we all believed that our Mother’s Day had been forgotten.

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