I woke up early yesterday morning. After checking the overnight Facebook action, I washed the dishes, put a load of laundry in, cooked myself some eggs, and had breakfast before the storm of activity that is my life with twins plus one awoke.
It's Mother's Day.
The hubby had an extra long work week in Kansas, plus some house hunting. He was tired. He was sleeping in today. I expected no fanfare this morning. It's fine.
The boys got up, and within five minutes we discovered that someone (likely that handsome guy who is snoring in the other room) clogged the toilet in the night. Unfortunately, we didn't discover this until after Thing 1 peed, didn't notice the clog, and then Shorty dumped his own clog- worthy load into our house's only toilet.
Fifteen minutes of plunging. Happy Mother's Day to me.
I live a very glamorous life.
I was taken by surprise at the intensity with which I felt the loss of my own mother. I wanted nothing more than to be able to hand her some flowers and a card and thank her for who she was and who she had helped make me to be. But I couldn't.
When I get sad, I get mean. It's one of the ugly bits of who I am. So I decided to pick a fight with the hubby as soon as he woke up. I worked myself up to it while he was still sleeping so I could ambush him with my ire. We had our little row, but he knows me well and diffused my anger before things got really bad.
As I was telling him why I was sad, I realized that I was being very selfish. I lost my mom and was unable to celebrate with her, but I could still celebrate who she had been. Other people in my life have mothers who are still living, but still are unable to celebrate as the holiday says they should. Their mothers are not and have never been the stuff of Hallmark cards. They cannot hug their moms and say, "Thank you for all you have done for me. You are the best mom ever."
I am blessed.
I had a great mom. I miss her. But I am blessed to have had her.
After I got over myself, we got on with our day. We swung through the drive thru at BK on the way to the art museum. It was the Mother's Day lunch that dreams are made of.
At the art museum, the first thing the four of us did was head through the labyrinth of galleries on our way to the restroom. Wait. Did you think we were a family of five? You are right. That wasn't a typo. Four of us went to the restroom. One of us got lost in the shuffle. I had one twin and thought the hubby had both Shorty and the other twin. The hubby had the other twin, thinking I had two kids with me. It wasn't until we all emerged from the restrooms that we realized that we were missing the Tiny Man.
Mother's Day parenting FAIL.
I have never run so fast in heels up steps in a museum in my life. Back by the front door, there was Shorty. Chatting away with the ladies at the desk. He had done everything right. He stayed put. He didn't panic. He told the people at the help desk who he was and whom he was with.
After we were reunited, he was pretty excited that he had done something "all by himself."
Needless to say, the rest of our time at the museum was much less eventful.
On the way home we grabbed some hot-n-ready pizzas for yet another perfect celebratory meal on paper plates at home. Dessert was frozen custard with a free cone for Mom...that ended up being eaten by the kid we almost lost. Small price for his safety.
I ended my day by cleaning pee off the floor of the dining room. The day had truly come full circle.
There was no breakfast in bed. There were no flowers, no chocolates, no fancy dinners, and no gifts. But I woke up this morning knowing the greatest Mother's Day gift of all was mine. The greatest gift I have ever received is the privilege of being a mother. That gift is mine today and every day.
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