Mother's Day

You know what the problem with Mother's Day is?

You have to have kids to get to celebrate it.

Kidding! I love my kids. I'm kidding, I'm kidding!

See, my day started at 6:30 am when my daughter snuck into our room and ran around to my side of the bed. My husband mumbled a half hearted "Come here" groan, and then he said "isyrmamsda" which I think meant "It's your Momma's day." Of course, my daughter ignored her and proceeded to smack me in the face and announce "I gotta go PEEPEE!"

So I stumbled out of bed into the bathroom with her, while making a snide comment about how this was supposed to be my day. Once I got my daughter situated, and was stretching myself awake, my husband stumbled in and said he got it. I considered playing the martyr card, but then common sense kicked in and I went back to bed.

For a blissful hour.

My daughter was so proud of the card that she made me that she came running into the room an hour later to shove it in my face. I made the appropriate "oohing" and "aahing" sounds, which apparently told my boy that Momma was awake and needed to have her bladder jumped on.

Still, I received some beautiful pearl earrings and the best gift of all - my husband took the kids to the Santa Ana Zoo, so I had the house to myself for two hours.

HEAVEN!!

It was when my husband brought the kids back that the problems started.

They were asleep so we transferred them to bed, and my husband asked if he could take a nap. Feeling magnanimous, I said of course. The kids are asleep. Nothing will happen.

My daughter woke up 5 minutes later.

My guilt wouldn't let me wake my husband up, so I held my daughter on the couch and gave up watching The Tudors for Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. When it became obvious that she wasn't going to go back to bed, I decided to take her to run errands with me. She made it through two of the four stores before she decided to take her shoes off and have me carry her everywhere.

We made it back home, so I decided to take a nap. We had an hour until our dinner reservations, and I figured that I could get a good 25 minutes in.

My kids decided to nap with me. (And I am using the word "nap" very loosely here).

Still, I reminded myself that in a few years they won't want to have anything to do with me. I decided to enjoy some snuggle time with a 25 lb two year old who decided that my head was the best place to lay down and a 35 lb one year old who thought bouncing on my stomach was hilarious.

We made it to dinner without incident. But that is when it happened.

I am not sure how, but my sweet, beautiful, well mannered children morphed into demons from the 7th circle of Hell. This must be a medical condition, I thought. Perhaps they will be written up in a medical journal. Seriously, it happened in the blink of an eye. This must be a medical miracle.

My daughter wailed until we were put in our booth. Then she was content to whimper and wipe her nose with my shirt, with occasional "I wanna go home"s thrown in. And my son was determined to let everyone at Claim Jumper know he was there: he kept trying to climb on top of the table, shouting "GAH!" at the top of his lungs at 5 second intervals. When we stuck him in the high chair, he screamed, arched his back, and threw his chips at anyone who walked by.

We got our food to go.

Home, we bathed the demon children, watched their horns retract, tucked them in, and sat back to enjoy a much needed bottle of wine and cold Claim Jumper dinners.

Right after I finished my dinner, my daughter stumbled out of her room. "I don't feel good," she told me. I scooped her up, prepared to soothe and cuddle, when she puked down my back. And in my hair. And in the hallway as I ran for the bathroom. And on my feet. The one place she didn't vomit? The bathroom. She was done by then.

I considered being upset, but my mom pointed out something very important when I was bitching to her about it. I will have the rest of my life to sleep in. I will have the rest of my life to shop alone. I will have the rest of my life to eat dinner out. I will have the rest of my life to eat hot food. I will have the rest of my life to not be vomited on.

But the moments that I had yesterday? They are fleeting. And meant to be enjoyed, and laughed at. And sure, with a 24 hour window to reflect on, it's pretty damn funny. Oh, not the vomit. But everything else it.