I had a magical Mother’s Day Internet. I awoke to my darling baby calling out from her crib beside my bed, and doing her very impressive leg lifts where she lifts both legs 90 degrees, holds, then slams them down as hard as she can. It rattles the whole house. Though she be but small, she is fierce. (Shakespeare probably had her in mind when he came up with that one.)
I was treated to donuts, and Jesse made delicious breakfast burritos.
A few weeks ago I forwarded him a great idea I saw on the interwebs. Instead of giving a mom a Mother’s Day card every year, just buy her a journal, and every year have each child write in a page. If they’re too little to write, just let them scribble, or stamp a hand print on the page. She’ll have a beautiful journal chronicling her childrens’ growth and love through the years. Jesse can take a hint, so he bought a journal and had the kids write me a note – but he went above and beyond and also put a love note in there from him and a bunch of pictures of me with the kids he had snapped over the past few years. He is such an amazing person.
The journal wasn’t my only gift. He also got me a hoodie. Stick with me for this story, because it’s a good ‘un.
I wear hoodies pretty much every day. I have around fifteen of the things. Why did he buy me a hoodie if I have so many you ask? Well, fourteen of my fifteen hoodies are oversized men’s hoodies that I have stolen from him over the years. He says I look like a frumpy lesbian when I wear them. (All of my lesbian friends should be totally flattered by that remark, because despite the hoodies, I’m super fly.) He got it into his head to buy me a girl hoodie, so he took Karis with him to the mall. They were in a store that caters to young, sporty, surfer Bettys, and he holds up a quasi-tie-dyed blue hoodie. Karis frowned and gave him a look of distaste. “That is not Mom’s style, Dad.” She warned.
He tried to convince her I’d love it, but she wasn’t swayed. Fast forward to Mother’s Day morning. I pull out the hoodie and smile and thank my husband. I put it on and look in the mirror. I wasn’t fooling anyone. He could tell I was thinking, “Do you even KNOW me?” Karis crowed, “I KNEW she wouldn’t like it! It’s not her taste! That hoodie is for girls with trendy taste.”
“What’s my taste?” I asked.
“Your taste is more ‘tired woman’.” She answered.
Tired woman indeed.
I refrained from telling her that I would have rocked the shit out of that trendy girl hoodie back before I had kids. Those young surfer Bettys can keep their trendy hoodies. This tired woman will take frumpy lesbian styles and three wonderful babies any day.
I hope all you Tired Women had a wonderful Mother’s Day!