I woke up at 10 and the kids greeted me with big smiles across their faces.
“Happy Mother’s Day,” my son said and behind his back he had a bouquet of flowers.
“Happy Mother’s Day,” my daughter repeated, dressed in her adorable pinafore. She even did a little curtsy.
Are you buying any of this?
Yeah, I didn’t think so.
My Mother’s Day started off like this:
I was in a deep sleep and then I heard an annoying Rummmmm Rummmmmm Rummmmmm sound.
I cracked open one eye and checked the clock. 758. I closed my eyes again. The good news is, I’ve trained my kids to let me sleep until 830 or 9.
Rummmmmmm Rummmmmmm Rummmmm
My eyes shot open again. What the hell? It sounded like someone was revving their motorcycle. Which is cool, but does that sort of thing have to be done at 758 on a Sunday?
Rummmmmmm Rummmmmmm Rummmmm
It was like the stupid thing was mocking me. I shoved the covers off of me and stomped over to the window. I opened it and shouted, “Hey! Shut up! It’s Mother’s Day for God’s sake!” Then I slammed the window and climbed back into bed.
Okay, so what I did might not have been much better. But really. Cut the noise until after 10 on weekends. It’s etiquette. Just because your kids wake you up at the crack of dawn doesn’t mean everyone else has to get up too.
Of course my kids heard me shouting so then I heard a tiny knock on the door.
“Mommy? It’s me, Natalie.”
Ugh.
Normally she stays in her room until I come and get her. But because she heard me yelling, she assumed it meant it was time for the day to begin.
“Mommy is sleeping,” I answered.
A pause.
“No, because you’re talking,” Natalie said primly. Then she opened the door, ran over to the bed and jumped on my face.
Rummmmm rummmmm rummmmmmm! Clearly, my shouting had done nothing to shut up the motorcycle guy. Or girl. Rude ass.
So I had to wake up. There was no getting back to sleep. I pushed Natalie’s butt off my nose and walked into Tommy’s room. He was hunched over a DS game.
“Hello,” I said. “Do you have anything to say to me?”
Tommy didn’t respond.
“HELLO?” I could have been doing the can can in my underwear and he wouldn’t have noticed.
Tommy glanced up. “Huh, what?” He seemed annoyed.
I threw my hands in the air. “Don’t you want to say anything to me?”
Tommy paused his game and surveyed me. “Nice, um, hair?”
Hair? What? My hair was standing on end since I had just woken up.
“It’s Mother’s Day,” I reminded him.
Tommy nodded. “I made you something.” He thundered down the stairs.
Natalie and I followed him as he dug through his backpack. He pulled out an envelope and handed it over.
I opened it and found this:
Aw. I loved it, typos and all.
He thanked me for letting him use my iPod. Which believe me, I don’t do often. Some things need to belong to me.
Natalie also gave me a card:
Tommy started to go back upstairs after that.
“Er, don’t I get breakfast?” I called out.
Tommy whirled around and seemed confused. “I can’t use the oven. You said if I tried that I’d set myself on fire and die.”
Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so blunt. It’s just, I have this fear that Tommy will decide to cook and them BAM our house goes up in flames. This isn’t even our house either, it belongs to the Air Force, so I don’t even want to know what would happen if our house became a ball of fire.
“Can you find something that doesn’t need to be cooked?” I wondered and yawned. Ugh, I needed some caffeine. I rummaged through the fridge and pulled out a Vanilla Coke Zero. I cracked it open, tipped the beautiful contents in my mouth and instantly felt better. Ahhhh...that’s the stuff....
“I know what I can get you!” Tommy said triumphantly. He opened the cupboard, pulled stuff out, set them on a plate and placed it in front of me.
A plate full of Little Debbie snacks. He knows me well.
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