It seemed fitting that I resurrect the blog (neglected for several months now) on Mother’s Day. I had high hopes. I would catch readers up on the kiddos turning six and 12 (yikes!), me making a job switch, Hubby’s new employment, and hopefully without much drama or swearing.
Heck, there might even be glimmers of domestic bliss! I could throw in some cute anecdotes about my kids, talk about what a great Sunday brunch my Hubby does, share the note Sweetpea wrote me.
Maybe the whole theme of my blog could start shifting, away from four-letter-word-ness and more towards Gwyneth-at-home-style Mother Earth-ness.
But really, who was I kidding?
The day started well. The famiglia let me stay in bed till 8.30, and I woke to Sweetpea bearing a tray with a mug of my fave Earl Grey, a tall vase of flowers, and the Sunday New York Times. Perfect! Then she placed it on my chest (why, oh why?) and the vase and tea toppled.
No worries though. We laughed it off, and got ready for a long dog walk. We pretended we lived in a copy of Parenting magazine or a commercial for life insurance, acting out a scene where Hubby and Munchkin test-drove a new go-kart down the hill in the park. (Yes, he may not have filed his taxes, but my man made time to create a go-kart from scratch. But that’s another blog entry.)
Sweetpea tolerated the outing, but I could tell by the scowl on her face and the iPod plugged into her ears that she was really wanting to scream, “OMG, this is, like, soooo lame!”
Croissants, scrambled eggs and salmon, more tea, and orange juice awaited back home (take that, Gwyneth! yeh, we went carb crazy). And then this:
Me: “Can I have the big mug [of tea] please?”
Him: “No, get a big mug yourself.”
Kids: “ Mom, I need a fork. Mom, cut this croissant in half. We want frozen yogurt!”
Me: “Did I get it wrong, or is it in fact Mother’s Day?”
Then came the text from M, mother of Munchkin’s friend: “Happy Mother’s Day! Need to tell you guys, J has lice!! Check your little guys’ heads just to be on the safe side.”
We did, and there they were: the nits. And Hubby and I went into overdrive. Flashlight out, nit comb ready, bedding being pulled off the beds before Munchkin could utter, “Hey I haven’t finished my croissant yet.”
And with that, dear readers, Mother’s Day was over. It turned from almost-an-insurance-commercial, with a few fights among the actors behind the scenes, into mega laundry day, spraying-of-mattresses-and-pillows-with-lice-control-solution day, smothering-of-Munchkin’s-head-with-tea-tree-oil-and-olive-oil day (it works, I swear.)
We did it calmly, however. There was no panic. There was no swearing. We’ve been through the lice thing before, remember?
OK, I lied a bit. I am swearing inside my head. A lot. Because, in truth, I’m feeling sorry for myself. Can I please have a Mother’s Day do-over?