Mother's Day. Every year I find myself falling for the commercial version of the celebration of Mother. I get warm hearted at the thought of breakfast in bed, sparkly things given in small boxes and kids laughing all day with no fighting or complaining. I guess now I know why Jack is so gullible when it comes to believing in the power of a 30 second spot. He has told me that Oxy Clean is the word you use when you want to describe something so clean that it sparkles. He wants to buy Lysol toilet cleaner in order to make my life easier and he's really bummed that we didn't buy all Maytag appliances because of the man who hides in them and does all the work. Advertising geared towards children? Forget about rational thinking. He wants it. All of it. Now.
As for myself, the commercials geared towards holidays are my own personal kryptonite. I'm powerless against a 10 second spot showing a frolicking good time hunting for Easter eggs. A 15 second commercial depicting a neighborhood 4th of July barbecue sends me into party planning mode faster than you can say Oscar Mayer. Lately the 30 seconds of endearing gratitude for mothers leaves me weak in the head. I start imagining our family dressed in JCrew while the kids lay presents at the feet of my settee. Never mind that we don't even have a settee, maybe that will be one of my many Mother's Day presents. There's no telling what the little cherubs will give to me when they declare their undying love and appreciation for all that I do. Settee's are just the beginning of what I deserve.
The reality is that while I dream in 30 second increments, the day lasts 24 hours and a lot can happen in that amount of time when you are dealing with children. Even appreciative children can lose their cool in less than 30 seconds. Then again, so can their mommy.
My alarm didn't go off, so when I awoke to hear Henry call out "Mommy! Uh-oh-poopy!" I was an hour and a half late. I hit the floor running, hoping to make it to church on time so that I'd get two kid free hours, but alas- it was not to be. Jack woke up sounding terrible and complaining that his neck (throat) hurt. At least I could stop panicking over being late.
Instead of breakfast in bed, I ate tator tots and a cheese stick at 11 am. In lieu of a settee, I sat in the desk chair because the couch cushions are currently producing a fort. When I envisioned bright smiling faces and coordinating outfits on everyone, I didn't take into account that the day may have been declared as a pajama day and that no one got their faces or hands washed after waffles this morning. I certainly didn't include a fantasy of Jack crying because we weren't going to be exchanging gifts and he had nothing to open or Henry screaming because Mitch was touching my leg while Henry wanted me to hold him. Learning to share Mommy's lap is a pretty big goal right now.
But I did get gifts. Jack drew a picture at school of me doing my favorite things, therefore I was shown taking a bath on a beach with a lobster looking on. I received two handmade cards shaped like the teapot from Beauty and the Beast with chamomile tea bags stapled inside and a poem about if I get too mad at the little buggers I should go make a pot of tea. I was water logged by lunchtime. Jack gave me his favorite stuffed rabbit for 15 minutes (timed) and the privilege of renaming said bunny for the duration of my fostering. The name reverted back to its original of John Wayne as soon as custody was revoked. I was given a plastic spoon and 2 Hershey kisses that immediately went back to the giver to avoid hysterics. And you want to know the funny part? I felt appreciated. I felt cherished while they took turns climbing all over me to deliver syrupy sticky kisses. I felt like the best mom in the world when they jumped for joy at the announcement of tator tots and hot dogs for lunch.
The point that I'm trying to make is that there is no way you can enjoy Mother's Day (or any day, really) if you are waiting for filtered lighting and a director to whisper your lines, because no day is entirely perfect. No child is perfect, nor their mothers or fathers. But each of us can have perfect moments. Our own 30 second spot that gets us through the next half hour block of bad programming. I'm hoping that the next really great moment involves something from Doves Chocolates, because that would be perfect right about now.
As for myself, the commercials geared towards holidays are my own personal kryptonite. I'm powerless against a 10 second spot showing a frolicking good time hunting for Easter eggs. A 15 second commercial depicting a neighborhood 4th of July barbecue sends me into party planning mode faster than you can say Oscar Mayer. Lately the 30 seconds of endearing gratitude for mothers leaves me weak in the head. I start imagining our family dressed in JCrew while the kids lay presents at the feet of my settee. Never mind that we don't even have a settee, maybe that will be one of my many Mother's Day presents. There's no telling what the little cherubs will give to me when they declare their undying love and appreciation for all that I do. Settee's are just the beginning of what I deserve.
The reality is that while I dream in 30 second increments, the day lasts 24 hours and a lot can happen in that amount of time when you are dealing with children. Even appreciative children can lose their cool in less than 30 seconds. Then again, so can their mommy.
My alarm didn't go off, so when I awoke to hear Henry call out "Mommy! Uh-oh-poopy!" I was an hour and a half late. I hit the floor running, hoping to make it to church on time so that I'd get two kid free hours, but alas- it was not to be. Jack woke up sounding terrible and complaining that his neck (throat) hurt. At least I could stop panicking over being late.
Instead of breakfast in bed, I ate tator tots and a cheese stick at 11 am. In lieu of a settee, I sat in the desk chair because the couch cushions are currently producing a fort. When I envisioned bright smiling faces and coordinating outfits on everyone, I didn't take into account that the day may have been declared as a pajama day and that no one got their faces or hands washed after waffles this morning. I certainly didn't include a fantasy of Jack crying because we weren't going to be exchanging gifts and he had nothing to open or Henry screaming because Mitch was touching my leg while Henry wanted me to hold him. Learning to share Mommy's lap is a pretty big goal right now.
But I did get gifts. Jack drew a picture at school of me doing my favorite things, therefore I was shown taking a bath on a beach with a lobster looking on. I received two handmade cards shaped like the teapot from Beauty and the Beast with chamomile tea bags stapled inside and a poem about if I get too mad at the little buggers I should go make a pot of tea. I was water logged by lunchtime. Jack gave me his favorite stuffed rabbit for 15 minutes (timed) and the privilege of renaming said bunny for the duration of my fostering. The name reverted back to its original of John Wayne as soon as custody was revoked. I was given a plastic spoon and 2 Hershey kisses that immediately went back to the giver to avoid hysterics. And you want to know the funny part? I felt appreciated. I felt cherished while they took turns climbing all over me to deliver syrupy sticky kisses. I felt like the best mom in the world when they jumped for joy at the announcement of tator tots and hot dogs for lunch.
The point that I'm trying to make is that there is no way you can enjoy Mother's Day (or any day, really) if you are waiting for filtered lighting and a director to whisper your lines, because no day is entirely perfect. No child is perfect, nor their mothers or fathers. But each of us can have perfect moments. Our own 30 second spot that gets us through the next half hour block of bad programming. I'm hoping that the next really great moment involves something from Doves Chocolates, because that would be perfect right about now.
So funny and so true! Thanks for sharing!
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