When he got back he had flowers and breakfast. He bought me some plants that I mentioned wanting since I’m constantly trying to “home-ify” our house. In true DR style, we had to MacGuyver a way to fit the plants through the bars onto our sill so putting each plant in a bag and tying the bags to a rope, he threw the plants up and I heaved them up 3 floors. While heave hoing, I stopped to find out what the hellions were up to – they were to quiet – and yelled, “Get off that table!” Then I turned back to the plant I was heaving and give it another ho. A minute later I stopped again from the window – at which I was holding a plant on a rope – and yelled, “Don’t smack your sister the face.” Obviously the plant heave-ho took a lot more time than we expected due to the consistent disruptions.
Once the kids were in bed Husband humored me in helping to re-arrange our furniture because he knows I love re-arranging furniture. Lift table, move table. Life chairs, move chairs. Nope, let’s try again. Repeat. In fact, it seems that the only “relaxing” thing we did to celebrate Mama’s Day in the kind of way that I would have imagined myself celebrating it before I was an actual Mama was by ordering out – and even that was off since before I was a Mama I would have imagined myself being finely dined. So with a re-arranged living room pizza on the way we watched House of Cards – our new (beyond) guilty pleasure.
It wasn’t the most glamorous Mama’s Day. Heck, I didn’t change out of my lounge around clothes which every mother knows are yoga pants and a t-shirt. I didn’t wear make up or do my hair. Didn’t even put a comb through it. Never even left the house unless you count moving furniture onto our porch in which case I left my house for 6.5 minutes. And that picture up there? From months ago. No pictures to show from Mama’s Day on my camera, Blackberry, iPad, or iPod.
But I love my husband. I love my kids. And I love our nice new living room so life is good. All is right in the world. And I wish you that kind of Mama’s Day.
The Prepared Mama for carrying bandaids and Neosporin and Benadryl wherever you go.
The MacGuyver Mama that makes cups out of paper plates or belts out or rope. You know that motherhood takes a lot of creativity.
The Stylish Mama who still manages to look goooood. How the fu…?! Go ahead with your bad mama self.
The Organized Mama who dates the calendar, finds the correct bin for the right toy, folds clothes, prepares ready-to-go bags for quick and efficient exits and knows where everything is all of the time without having to look. Get it, mama!
The Stick to Your Guns Mama who knows it would be so much easier to “yes” at times but still says “no” and then deals with the ensuing whining that inevitably follows.
The Punching Bag Mama who is carrying their screaming child in one arm and grocery bags in another thus having no hands to deflect the oncoming smack that screaming child will land on her face all the while remaining calm.
The Dance Mama – no not the kind on that reality show about dance moms. Ewww. But the kind of mother that dances because your daughter told you to and when she says twirl, you mother effing twirl.
The Selflfess Mama who… oh wait, that’s all you mamas out there.