Happy? Mother's Day

(Disclaimer: this is humor. I'm not bitter, my day wasn't exactly like this, and my husband is awesome)

Birds gently chirp as my sheer white curtains ripple softly in the breeze. I wake up slowly, only to realize it is 10 in the morning. I prop myself up on pristine white pillowcases and spend a moment enjoying the silence in my spotless sanctuary of a bedroom. After a moment, my kids creep in quietly, carrying a tray with strawberries and thick-sliced bacon. They are dressed in clean, coordinated clothes, their hair brushed carefully out of their faces. My husband tiptoes in behind them, carrying an exotic teapot on a tray. I adjust the long white sleeves of my flowing nightdress and welcome them all for delicate hugs and kisses. 

I am awakened by the sounds of screams. Otherworldly screams, across the hall. It is 7 am. My husband sleeps on his stomach, oblivious. I sit up, moving the pillow without a case to the back and trying to plump the other pillow into more of a pillow shape. The mini-blinds swing into the window frame, over and over, blown by the fan with one screw in its base. My bedroom door crashes violently into the dresser, followed by screaming children dressed in lion costumes and too-short jeans. My husband rolls over and mutters something about noise as they wail the details of their dispute and wrestle on top of my blanketed legs. I adjust my XL t-shirt from the bank and cutoff sweat shorts as I stumble blearily down the stairs for my instant breakfast.

While I finish my breakfast and daintily wipe my lips with a cloth napkin, the children sit in a row and sing an original song they have written in my honor, and then present me with my gifts. I laugh at the handmade cards and then marvel at the picture frames with their professional portraits, a portrait session I was unaware of. The last thing I open is a card from my husband, with a gift card to a spa and a reservation for one night at a nearby resort, alone. 

I sneak upstairs to drink my shake, but the children find me. Their father is in his office downstairs with the door closed. They all climb into bed with me and attempt gymnastic feats, flipping and jumping. One of them smells funny. I give him the shifty eye and he takes it as an invitation, climbing in my lap and wiping my arm with what I pray is the remnant of a banana. I text, passive-aggresively at their father, and after a moment, he comes and encourages them to go somewhere else, which they do for 30 seconds and then they're back.

After the gifts, the kids and my husband head back down the stairs, to clean up the dishes and spend a little one-on-one time with each other. He slips back in after a moment with a couple of books he found at the library and a refresher of tea. "We're leaving," he tells me, smiling. "We'll be back at dinner time. Don't worry about dinner, I'll pick something up." And with that, they are all gone, the house is quiet. After a few hours, I go downstairs and find a bouquet of fresh flowers and a treasure map to the refrigerator, where I find a small shrimp cocktail and a refrigerated chocolate mousse. In the evening, they come back with pizza and a rented movie. 

After sending some relatively hostile glances around the house, my husband tentatively offers a lot of gifts, sometime soon. I accept his offer like a lady, a lady with deep emotional needs and a grudge. He rethinks his offer and takes us all to lunch, where I try to act like it wasn't my idea. A pleasant time is had by all, except maybe the people sitting behind us.

I spend the day with the husband and children I love, remembering how lucky I am, how I prayed for this, how surrounded I am by love and joy and laughter and life. 

I spend the day with the husband and children I love, remembering how lucky I am, how I prayed for this, how surrounded I am by love and joy and laughter and life.