I love my life. Most of the time. I love my kids. Most of the time, I even like them. Most of the time, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but home with them. Okay. That one was a flat out lie. Life as a stay at home mom can be awesome. I get to witness every milestone. I watch my kids grow, centimeter by centimeter and inch by inch. I get to be with them for every triumph and comfort them when they are disappointed or in pain. I wouldn’t trade that for a minute. Well, I would trade it TEMPORARILY! AMIRITE?! They are loud and they don’t get along. Ever! Every day, I’m cleaning shit off of little asses and, the big asses are clogging the toilets every other week. They may or may not mention that the toilet overflowed because they used an entire roll of toilet paper and hopefully, I’ll notice the shit handprints all over the walls before company does. They want to eat, like EVERY FUCKING DAY! Several times a day! Give me! Give me! Give me!
“I need lunch money!”
“My creeper shirt is dirty and I want to wear it”
“She ate the LAST piece of bread and I wanted it!”
“It’s my turn!”
“He just had a turn!”
Look, sometimes my castle can feel like a prison. It can be so mundane and, at the same time, so stressful. The kids aren’t the best conversationalists, unless you’re into My Little Pony, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, play-doh, paw shaped clues, or zombies. The conversations are long winded but are anything but intellectually stimulating. They’re such lightweights, they’re no fun as drinking buddies. (for all you humor impaired readers, before you go calling CPS, that was A JOKE) The only thing that, aside from drinking wine over adult conversation, that I fantasize about is silence. Total silence. Not the kind of silence that makes your heart pound in your throat when you hear it, because the only explanation is that the kids are fucking shit up real bad or they are dead. I mean the relaxing silence that means you can pee or bathe with the bathroom door open because the silence is safe. I long for those times when I don’t have to drink a bottle of wine to relax enough to enjoy a glass of wine. I just want to sit in it. Unafraid. I want to do nothing but think random, pointless thoughts. The thoughts that usually pop up around 11PM when I’m laying my head down to go to sleep, but can’t because my brain has been saving up shit all day and opens the flood gates, resulting in me lying awake for hours, obsessing over what I should have said in the course of an argument 20 years ago.
So, here comes Mother’s Day! All over, husbands and children are preparing for Sunday. They’re going to get the same old shit they always get and moms are going to have to fake smile and act like they are so excited about the cliche gestures and bullshit gifts. Stop listening to Hallmark. Don’t listen to the television. Don’t let the radio DJ tell you what I want. Tell your friend or the neighbor or anyone else that gives you advice to cram it in their cram hole. Get off teh Google. All wrong. Now, I want you to listen to ME. I’ll explain some dos and don’ts for this Mother’s Day. Pull up a chair:
- Buy flowers. This also applies to birthdays and anniversaries.** This is a colossal waste of money, for starters. Why, why, why, are you going to spend $100 on a gift, so that I can watch it die over the next week? I can’t wear it. They serve no real purpose. As it dies, the leaves and petals wilt and fall off and, want to know what that “gift” has turned into? Another fucking thing I have to clean up. Thanks.
- Buy clothes or shoes. Unless you have been instructed specifically exactly what to purchase and what size, do NOT attempt this purchase. For starters, it’s very likely your style palette is very different from hers. Second, if you don’t know the correct size, beyond a shadow of a doubt, you’re playing with fire, son. Don’t think that you can just walk into her closet and grab something to get her size. Are you fucking new here? Unless she has never gained a pound during pregnancy, this is NOT a reliable system. Those pants may be the right size or they may be that pair she is hoping to fit into one day, probably in vain, or, worse, they’re her fat pants that she wore while pregnant, when she was too big for her own clothes but too small for maternity or the ones that she wore right after giving birth when she didn’t want to wear maternity. It’s a crap shoot. Walk away from this idea if you value your life.
- Get her a gym membership. Even if she has expressed a desire to join a gym, you DO NOT give a woman a gym membership as a gift. EVER! You might as well call her “Bessy”, throw some hay at her and start trying to milk her.
- Gift her cleaning gear/appliances. Yeah, I think that washer/dryer set with the steamer and drying table is pretty sweet. If you get me that as a gift, I’m going turn all of your shit pink and teeny tiny. Mark my words.
- Make a huge breakfast surprise. Unless you’re going to clean it up, which we all know you’re not. You’re really just dicking me with this “gift”. Serve me Shipley’s donuts in bed.
- Take the kids. Out of the house. Away. For HOURS. Maybe even the day. Hell, the weekend! That’s all. Best gift ever. Here is what I’m going to do while you and the kids are gone:
Not a fucking thing.
As a bonus, while I’m doing nothing, I’m going to do crazy things like:
- Eat all my meals and snacks without having to share a single bite or solitary sip of my drinks.
- I’m going to lay in bed, watching television or sleeping or playing on my phone, without listening for feet or fighting to signal when to hide under the comforter.
- I’m going to go to the bathroom, while NOT refereeing arguments and/or answering questions about why I won’t buy another phone app, which ninja turtle is the best or what happened to my penis.
- I’m not going to make cereal, pour a drink, make a sandwich or blow on food for anyone.
- I’m going to eat my meals and snacks without being interrupted and having to take a break to go get someone else a new drink or a condiment or to blow on a plate.
- I’m not going to have to play “find the poop smell”.
- I’m not going to clean up any shit (which reminds me, you need to take the dog too).
- I’m not going to watch any Dora or Blue’s Clues and worry about going to movies in the future, with a generation that has been taught that yelling answers and opinions at characters on the screen is normal.
- I’m going to have two free hands. With two hands, I’m going to be able to do so many activities!
Now you have the key to the perfect gift. These rules apply to any occasion. This is not to say that actual gifts are not acceptable. Feel free to leave the gifts on the table or in the bedroom prior to your departure. Anything along the lines of a case of wine, a Tori Burch bag, a Visa gift card, or spa treatments are all welcome additions to this stay-cation.