I didn’t display a ton of foresight when I took a Tylenol PM on Mother’s Day Eve.
I didn’t display any foresight when I took a Tylenol PM on Mother’s Day Eve.
“Mom just went to the store to get breakfast.”
“It’s Mothers Day.”
“S–t.” “Did I just say that out loud?”
“Uh, yes Dad.”
“S–t. Sorry, close your ears.”
I race into the kitchen, hair akimbo. Polly is already back.
“Why good morning, did you sleep well?” This is not going to be good.
“Well, I just couldn’t fall asleep…” I look up and my explanation dies as I quickly discern a complete lack of interest. 50 Shades of Grey, where are you when I need you?
I pour Polly a cup of coffee and scoot her out of the kitchen and turn to the boys.
If there was the Bad News Bears of kitchen help I think I would be looking at them.
“Ben, you cut up the fruit; Cooper, you set the table; Griffin, please clean up the TV room; Christian, please get your toys off the table.”
“What?” I growl.
“Who wants fruit?”
“We don’t have any forks.”
“Dad, I cleaned up yesterday.”
“Me too,” chirps Christian.
Godzilla is about to visit. “GO!!!” I roar. They disappear. Except Ben.
“Which fruit should I cut?” He is looking squarely at the box of strawberries.
I am trying so hard. “Start with the strawberries.”
“Where’s a knife?” grrrr.
“Where’s the cutting board?” GRRRRR.
“Do I cut them in half or in quarters?”
“Ben, you are about to cut them with your nose. I have faith in you.”
“Do you peel strawberries?”
“Only if you want it brought up at your wedding rehearsal dinner.”
“What do I put them on?”
“Get a platter. No, strike that, get a bowl.”
3 minutes go by. I look over. Ben is painstakingly organizing the strawberries in a circle on a huge platter. It looks like a crop circle in Idaho.
“What happened to the bowl?”
“The… AHHHHH! Forget it, I will get the bowl. You get the juice.”
“What kind of juice?”
I go out to check on the other three. They are watching TV. Godzilla arrives.
So now we are sitting at the table and I say, “Let’s tell Mom all the great things that are so special about her.”
Cooper chirps up. “Oh! Mom, I love it when you scratch my back. <pause>. It’s like a rhinoceros horn.”
Polly’s head swings slowly to me with a smirk that only a husband can recognize. It is the “Mother’s Day for a mother of 4 boys is the most sacrosanct holiday that there possibly is and while I love the five of you dearly, having you sleep through breakfast and my son call me a rhinoceros as he celebrates my motherhood is going to cost you in many ways. Let me begin describing the ways. You will cook them breakfast all week; you will get them to bed; you will do the laundry; you will figure out summer camp; you will call that weird lady about Cooper’s saxophone; you will clean out the basement; you will get the printer ink; AND you will give me a back massage for each of the next 7 nights.”
I pick all of this up before Polly has blinked.
It is 9:12am.