This Sunday is Mother’s Day in Canada, and by breeding, I qualified for this celebration. Let me tell you what my dream Mother’s Day looks like, and what I hope Mother’s Day has in store for me. Yes, they’re different. Dramatically different.
My dream Mother’s Day would have started already, because I would have been flown to Hawaii or Fiji, which for me are interchangeable as I’ve never been to either. On Mother’s Day I would wake up at about 10, because to a mom, that is sleeping in. And I would wake up slowly. Not out of shock from a small persons face being inches from my own. Or from the faint calling from a bathroom asking for me to reach the toilet paper for them. Slowly. And I would wake up to the smell of bacon and French toast smothered in maple syrup flown in from Canada especially for me. And tea, that I would drink while it was hot. The whole thing would be consumed while hot. I just sighed at the thought. After breakfast I would make my way down to the beach where my private cabana would be awaiting. Inside said cabana would be a salad bowl of fresh fruit and a bronze, hairless, gay, male masseuse. That’s right, he has to be fabulous and full of compliments, but not be attracted to my nudeness whatsoever. Otherwise I’d be all tense and crap and that would ruin the 2 hour massage. I just want a fabulous queen to tell me to keep looking beautiful. After my rub down, I would meet my lovely children and handsome husband down the beach. They’d be dressed like a Tommy Bahama ad and my kids would have styled hair. Clean, brushed, and styled. We’d all eat seafood and fish and vegetables for lunch and the girls would perform a sweet little song and dance they wrote and choreographed by themselves. They’d then be whisked away by a nanny who would teach them to read at a 7th grade level. Like I do. Matt and I would drink zero calorie daiquiris until sunset at which point all of my kin would go away and I would sleep in a Shaq sized bed. Alone. Because when you’re happily married, sleeping alone is a mini vacation. Epic, eh?
Now, for my official Mother’s Day vision. The one that definitely has a possibility of coming true. I wake up somewhere between 8:30 and 9. Mildly disturbed by my kids reaching the end of their “quietly playing together nicely” time. I’ll wander down stairs, and my family will all cheer “Happy Mudder’s Day, Mama!” and I’ll be group hugged. I’ll make a tea (because no one else makes it right) and have some sort or bacon and carb breakfast of my choosing. I’m also hoping we can take a trip to Springridge Farm. I love farms, and I really love farms with gift shops and bakeries. Plus, it’s a fun outdoor playground for kids, so the less parenting for me the better. It is Mother’s Day after all. While Matt corrals the kids, I’ll mosey in to buy some cranberry and orange sauce, and maybe a scone or 4. Once the kids are tired and I’m full of scones we’ll drive home. But we’ll take the long way home so the girls sleep a little and we get a scenic journey full of critiquing the massive homes we pass. My Mother’s Day will hopefully end with a family meal at Swiss Chalet. You heard me, The Chalet. I love it. And it’s family/budget/free refills friendly. And if I’m lucky, ribs are in my future, too. Top the day off with not having to tuck my kids into bed and I’m happy as a tornado in a trailer park.
Here’s hoping your wine glass is bottomless, and that your kids hardly whine at all…Happy Mudder’s Day.