My Day

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OK, this is silly but I have to say I’m sooooo excited about my Mother’s Day present.

I’ve been advocating for myself and talking this one up for weeks. I’ve been wanting this since the husband was deployed to Iraq for 15 months back in 2009 and 2010. He came home and I still never got my wish.

But tomorrow. Ohhhh, tomorrow. I think it might really happen!

I will get my day.

On my day,

I will not wipe a single nose or butt. I will not make the weekend trek to speech therapy and gymnastics practice. I will not cook breakfast, lunch or dinner. I will not go to work. I will not go to the playground. I will not load the dishwasher. I will not clean poop out of the tub. I will not be the Human Snack Dispenser. I will not fold a stitch of clothing. I will not watch any episodes of Bubble Guppies, Team Umizoomi or Mike the Knight.

Instead I will sleep in. Really, really late. Then I will sit up in bed, laugh until I snort or maybe cry hysterically because I will have no responsibilities for one whole day.

And then I’ll go back to sleep.

In the early afternoon, I’ll ring for the husband to bring me some vittles.

Then maybe I’ll read a good book – nothing earth-shattering, just entertaining. I might clip my toenails. I might think about thinking about something. Maybe I’ll do a few crunches. I might just do nothing just because I can.

Funny thing, no one in my house is nearly as excited about my Mother’s Day present as I am. The husband has this resigned sort of look of dread on his face every time I bring it up. Hope’s face registers something like a big… Uh Oh.

At bath time tonight I asked her what she thought about the present I am insisting on asking for:

Ever the diplomat, she said, “Well, I’m happy for you, but, well, Daddy can’t brush our hair,” Then she leaned close and whispered. “You remember what happened that one time.”

“Oh yes.”

She nodded knowingly. “Rhema’s macaroni, Mom!”

That would be the time I worked extra long hours. B had to take the kids to school and pick them up. That would be the week he took Rhema to school with NO SHOES ON. In the dead of winter. He pulled up to the school, and she happily jumped out barefoot. That would be the week that somehow the kids did not get picked up from school (But we’ll just blame that one on a communication breakdown. Yeah.) That would also be the week he cooked mac and cheese for Rhema. Only he did NOT ADD WATER. The house reeked of burned cheese and noodles for days.

We giggled at the memory. Daddy’s so funny.

“He knows exactly what to do now. And if there’s a question, you can come and ask me. After, say,  2 pm. (Ha!) Everything will be fine…”

Oh, hope for me friends (and maybe pray for them)!

The countdown has begun, and I can’t wait!

My day!