I just read Heather Hewitt’s wonderful Mother’s Day wishlist on Girl w/Pen. She’s got some wishes that would do Julia Ward Howe proud: global peace, diminishing inequality, freedom from gendered violence. I’m on board with all of ‘em.
But I have to admit I’m really a sucker for these four items:
1. A morning spent reading the newspaper and drinking coffee without constant interruption from the kids. …
3. A house overflowing with peace (no screaming fights over Lego pieces, etc.). …
9. Sufficient time to play with kids, talk with husband and friends, and care for self (read, exercise, shower, write in journal, and meditate). …
10. Ability to do the above with a sense of abundance instead of stress.
Yep, you saw that right. I just ticked every last one of the selfish wishes. May the newpaper be the Sunday Times (which I’ve not read in paper form since 2001). Let the “journal” be my blog. Let the “exercise” = um, sex. (Because a bike ride still can’t compete.) And the meditation? Wow, it would be awesome if I weren’t always on a schedule with that too.
This morning (Saturday) started at 4 a.m. with the Tiger announcing that his favorite stuffed animal, Mama Tiger, had gone rogue. At 4 a.m.! I had to flip on all the lights, put on my glasses, and launch a cathunt. I found the prodigal Tigress in the bathroom, perched upon the counter, looking far more chipper than I.
This evening ended with the Bear in tears because he was trying to make some little bears out of pompoms and pipecleaners. There were no bears in sight. However, the pompoms were about to wash away in a river of glue, tears, and snot.
Tomorrow I am to be showered with homemade gifts, or so I’ve been told. That is, unless my beloved sons start to pummel each other with them first. Whatever the sequence of events, I’m prepared to be touched to tears.
But I’m also prepared for this:
And yes, if this happens, I’ll run to my kittehs, comfort whoever’s snoot is stuck (probably the Tiger), try to stay calm.
And then, because it is Mother’s Day, I’ll yell VERY LOUDLY for their father to please bring a crowbar and a bottle of olive oil (for our distressed kitteh), and a small piece of very dark chocolate (for me). And he will come, but not just because it’s Mother’s Day. He’ll come because he’s far cooler and more competent than I in such situations. And because he loves our miraculous, crazy-making kids every bit as much as I do.
Whether you’re a biomom, an adoptive mom, a stepmom; whether you’re an other mother or an “auntie”; whether your a mom or a dad; whether you’re an adult child whose mama helped you extricate your snoot from some tight spots (and eventually learn to avoid them) … Happy Mother’s Day to all!