Mother's day?

Just thought I'd share a glimpse of my Mother's day with all of you.  This will be a bit like watching the soaps.  You're life will seem incredibly manageable and blessedly peaceful by the end of this piece.

Here in South Dakota, Mother's day falls on a Sunday.  A couple thoughts on that.  Mom's get screwed.  We don't get a weekday off, no extra vacation.  Just the regular Sunday.  Okay fine.  No problem, we'll take what we can get.  I'm involved in several ministry aspects at our church, so Sunday's are work day's for me.  I awoke to the soothing sounds of my husbands gravelly voice (at 5:30am) speaking into the cell phone.  I shot up in bed with the classic's mother's response to a predawn phone call..."Who died?".  "I just called you in sick" - he replied.  "Why would you do that?!" - I responded with all the gratitude of nicotine junky being told they're last pack of cig's has been shredded by a caring friend.  "'Cause you're tired".  "I am?".  "Yeah, you are, now go back to sleep".  Huh.  I tried, I really did.  I laid there in that bed and put forth a valiant effort.  I made a committment.  People are depending on me.  They're going to think I'm a flake!  Oh  yeah, I'm relaxed and appreciative now.
"Harumph".  He literally said, "Harumph".  Just let that sink in for a minute.  "You're not sleeping."  I really hate how astute he is in the morning.  It leaves me feeling downright slow.  "No,  I'm not.  I have to go to work".  "Fine, would you go to sleep if I go in to work for you?"  Hmmmmm, now that might work.  "You would do that for me?"  (This is the part of the conversation that is designed by any woman, to wake the slumbering hero that rests within our man)  "Yeah, I would do that, sure.  What are you in charge of this morning?".  "I'm producing, and tech directing.  Are you sure you wanna do this?  It's a lot.".  (Subtle reminder that I am a super hero! - I'm good at this)  "Sure, go back to sleep, I'll take care of it."

So he did, and I did.  Bliss.  Stolen hours of sleep waited just around the corner.  I glanced at the clock, becuase it's important to recognize how much sleep I'd be blessed with.  It's now 5:32am.  (Yes, the above dialogue used up 2 priceless minutes. Grrrrrrrr.)  Oh well, back to slumber.  As I drifted off, secure in the love of my husband this blessed Mother's Day, it hit me...I have 5 children under the age of 13.  And he left them all here...with me. I have remembered this fact because my 4 year old has launched herself directly at the top of my head.  It's 5:35am.  I try, I really do, but she won't go away and leave me alone.  "I hate you".  "Get up Mom, I'm hungry.  Now!"  There's a reason we call her Bonaparte. 

Coffee, quickly.   Copious amounts of coffee and there is a small chance that when my husband gets back, he may still be a father.

By 5:45am, all 5 children are sitting around the breakfast island, eating their fruity pebbles. 

By 6:00am, I have downed 2 large mugs of coffee, cleaned up 3 major spills, mopped the flooor, cleaned the windows in the dining room (don't ask), fed the dogs (we have 3 of them), recovered a missing turtle (we have 3 of them), unloaded the dishwasher and started a load of laundry. 

By 7:00am I have settled 2 life threatening disputes, folded a load of laundry and started another load.  Loaded the dishwasher, fished a turtle out of the toilet, bathed said turtle free of all blue residue, filled in the new hole the beagle dug under the fence, retreived the damn beagle from the neighbors yard, (noted that the damn beagle crapped in the neighbors yard - looks like the obedience training did some good after all), pulled the chicken out of the freezer ('cause there's no chance in hell that I'm going out to dinner looking like this), mopped again and rewashed the dining room window (don't ask).

By 8:00am something very bizarre has happened.  I have come to hate my name.  Not my biblical name, my identifying name - Mom.  In any form, I hate it.  Mom!  Mommy!  Mother!  Mo....stop hitting me....I'm telling....m! 

Happy freakin' Mother's day.

At 8:30, I'm on my second pot of coffee.  I've managed to pull my hair back out of my face...I'm exhausted, I'm crabby, I'm pretty sure my husband didn't go to church, he's sitting in the parking lot waiting for "Hooters" to open...I'm plotting an amazing Father's day for him...

"Mom".  WHAT!!??!  "Do you want to open the card I made for you?"  Sure honey, I'd love to.

The card is made with a sheet of white typing paper and a black inkpen.  It says..."I love you Mom, Happy Mother's Day".  All the "o"'s are little hearts.  It took my 7 year old, a very manly little boy, an hour to make this card.  It cost him a lot to draw all those girly hearts.  He has the most incredible big brown eyes.  He's hiding his hands behind his back and waiting expentantly for a reaction.

"I love you Tanner, I love my card.  Thankyou so much sweetie."  As I hug him, his hands come out from behind his back and wrap around my neck.  I made this.  He's mine.  All 5 of them are mine.  I'm a Mom.  For better or worse, forever. 

As the finger paint drips down my neck, I marvel at the life I have chosen, and the ability of this blessed creature to make me a card entirely of black ink and come away covered in a rainbow of finger paint. 

I'm off to wash the dining room window again.  Happy Mother's day!