This Sunday is Mother’s Day, and you know what that means. Right. It means you need to call your mom and tell her you love her, and if you have kids, it means they’re going to wreak havoc in your kitchen, fight with each other, and generally cause you to wonder why on earth you thought motherhood was such a good idea after all.
What’s that? Oh. I see. Well, maybe that last bit only happens at my house. Moving on….
I am having a wee bit of trouble understanding who might be spending Mother’s Day watching a Flintstones marathon on Boomerang, but to each their own. Does this mean Wilma is supposed to be a role model for us moms? Because all I ever learned from watching her is that pearls go with everything. Which isn’t a bad lesson, I suppose, but still.
No, if I’m allowed the entire day to do whatever I want, I’m sort of unlikely to spend it watching 7 hours of The Flintstones, but maybe I could distract my kids with it and loll around with a good book. Or maybe we can play hide-and-seek, and if I hide really well, I won’t have to share the chocolate. There’s always that.
I kid. I love spending Mother’s Day with my children, because when else can I squelch any misbehavior with a stern look and a mournful, “You know, I thought today was supposed to be my day, when everyone was nice to me. I guess not.” (Guilt: It’s what’s for dinner!) Hey, we moms have to play to our strengths.
However you choose to celebrate the day, I hope it’s a great one!