Mother’s Day and Momsie

Here is a post about Mother’s Day because:

  1. I am a mother.
  2. There is a Day that we get.

Before I go on, let me just say that I never really thought much of Mother’s Day until I finally had my own wee babies bust of my own body parts. I know. I’m sorry, Mom. Because once I had my own spawn? Oh my goodness, y’all. It was like Mother’s Day came up and smacked me upside the head then and said, “YOU ARE TIRED. THIS DAY IS GOING TO BE A CELEBRATION OF HOW REALLY REALLY TIRED YOU ARE. SO, TAKE ADVANTAGE, WOMAN.”

By the way, the committee who decided all the rules with Mother’s Day? I am thinking they’re not mothers. First of all, they decided it was going to be on a Sunday. Nope. Sunday mornings at our house? Full on nutball. Even more so than a school morning, because on Sundays we have to BE somewhere by 8 am because our church likes to worship our Lord and Savior when roosters are crowing, evidently. AND – not only do we HAVE to BE there while the sun is coming up, we also have to be FULL ON TALKY-TALKY AND SMILEY AND CHURCHY.

AND. We have to be dressed up. 

And act like this is all totally natural. 

Also, Mother’s Day is in MAY. Really? MAY? May is the month where the calendar just flops over on its side and starts groaning. May is the month of Let’s Do Everything.

May is a firing squad with a day-planner, ya’ll. 

Why can’t Mother’s Day be on a Saturday in… say, February? It’s cold. Rainy. I could take a nap that completes me.

Anyhow.

Here was my Mother’s Day:

  1. Blonde’s card. The snark is strong with that one.

img_8048.jpg

2. Red’s card. img_8057.jpg

Two things: I have not ridden a bike since Red fell off his bike and we ended up in the ER due to the horrible injury involving THE SEAT OF HIS BIKE JUST LET YOUR IMAGINATION FILL IN THE HOLES ON THAT ONE.

Also, totes correct on the sleeping thing.

3. I keep finding pictures like this on my phone:

IMG_7152.JPG

Note the slightly-crazed expression. That’s what I’m working with here, people.

 

4. Here is this total moment of hotness:IMG_8038.jpgNo… I am not his mother. That would be so weird. But he is somewhat responsible for the other two spawn and so, yea.

Plus he’s Hotter Mchotterson in those bike pants. You’re welcome for the eye candy, ladeeeeeez.

5. Also because Hotter Mchotteson is wonderful, he bought me a Ninja blender. This thing is awesome, y’all. I make my smoothies in it. In seconds.  I can make homemade whipped cream (something I never knew I needed in my life quite so much as now) in seconds. I blend soups! I make lattes! I blend up ice because I just CAN! IN SECONDS! It cleans my floors! It tells me I have good hair!

Sorry. Perhaps the Ninja cannot actually talk to me, but it seriously rocks my world.  And, because my last blender was THIS:

IMG_8059.jpg

Yes. It’s filthy. And it’s circa 1897.

Let’s all just have a moment of silence, shall we, for Really Old Grungy Blender Ok? Let’s grasp hands and say a prayer:

IMG_8059.png

6. And finally, there was THIS:IMG_8062.jpg

No, not the value pack of Lysol Wipes. Those are just always sitting around in our house because I have boys with little or no concept of aim.

Yes, this is a box.

It’s been sitting on my dining room table, along with All the Clutter of the World  for about three days. I tend to ignore my dining room table, as the clutter sloooooowly starts to mingle, maybe start dating, and then starts to procreate all over the place until I lose it and start throwing stuff away whilst muttering under my breath about the bad choices that my Clutter has made.

Anyhow, this was a present, for ME that I completely ignored because Clutter, AND I thought it was for my children. And, since they get all the presents all the time, I just kinda plopped it there, for a rainy day, when they deserve a present.

My sister finally texted me to inform me that the box was for ME and to OPEN it for Pete’s sake.

And so, I did and voila!

IMG_8067.JPG

My sister totally gets me.  A jadeite butter dish! Cute!! A cute little measuring tape thing. So cute!! A game that I can play with my children! In a cute little whale bag!! CUTE!

Annnnnnd: IMG_8068.png

As God is my witness, I thought it was drugs.

I know. Pretty much sums up my complete inability to process things correctly and also I am a horrible person.

It’s NOT drugs. It’s Zinnia seeds from her garden that are huge and gorgeous and MY GOSH WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME DRUGS? YOU ARE SICK. SICK, MOMSIE.

Ok, I didn’t really think it was drugs. But maybe, yes, just for a minute. Maybe.

7. I can’t end on the drugs thing. So, if I haven’t lost your readership at this point, here is also this:

img_8054.jpg

Red drew our cats on the wrapping paper for one of my gifts. Vader and Steve. Pretty accurate, actually. One is round. The other, pointy.

And poor Bob. Always off in the corner and misspelled.

And here is this:IMG_8066.jpg

Steve got a nap in. I walked by, took this picture, and told him, “You go, you big fat furry. You TAKE that nap. And take one for me, too, today, ok?”

He didn’t answer, just kept on sleeping. Shocking.

 

And that was my Mother’s Day.

Oh, and here’s what else happened:

  1. 27 hugs.
  2. fourteen kisses (more or less)
  3. A whole bunch of “I love you’s”
  4. My Red coming in to the bedroom, all tossled with sleep, saying, “Happy Mother’s Day, mommah. You are the best mother in the whole world.”
  5. My husband telling me he is proud of me. And that I’m hot.
  6. My sweet Blonde trying to cuddle with me on the couch, all arms and legs and growing boy.
  7. Hosmer swearing his undying love to me. Again.
  8. I didn’t drink because I’m a sober mom and a walking miracle all at the same time.
  9. God saying, “You are a mom, and you are Dana, and you are blessed, and you are MINE.

God bless you, mommahs. In truth? Every day is Mother’s Day. It’s a privilege.

Amen?

Amen.

 

 

Advertisements

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Mother’s Day

Gonna blog for #NetflixStreamTeam today. And also, be a bit mushy. You’ve been warned.

 

As a Netflix Streamteam blogger, Netflix asks me to watch their fabulousness and them chatter about it. It's a great gig.

As a Netflix Streamteam blogger, Netflix asks me to watch their fabulousness and them chatter about it. It’s a great gig.

Y’all. I don’t much care for Mother’s Day.

There. I said it.

I know. It sounds all wicked stepmothery of me, doesn’t it? Well, maybe I should embrace this role. The wicked stepmother should get props, I think, for at least being practical. She has a household to run and two daughters who have terrible social skills. She is on survival mode, people.

And then she has the sweetie pie, Cinderella, who has befriended vermin and always has good hair. It’s WEIRD.

It’s also possible I am reading a bit too much into this whole story, but you know, I never promised you a neurotic-free post.

Well, and then, there’s also this:

Mother’s Day Expectations:

family breakfast in bed boy reading newspaper
Really, small blonde? How’s that stocks section? And, don’t you think that’s enough carbs, mommah?

Mother’s Day Reality:

I’m gonna find a sock with macaroni and cheese in it under the bunk bed. And I’m gonna have to clean it.

Because, crazy does not wait.

Even on Mother’s Day.

Ok, so this Mother’s Day, my beloved decided to take me dress shopping. I have an actual book signing coming up, in which I will be rubbing shoulders with REAL AUTHORS OH MY WORD (Pun? See it? I’m good) and I need to look legit. And smart. And bookish. And, like I know what I’m doing, and also thin.

Here’s how it all went down:

Hubs: Let’s go Dress Shopping for Mother’s Day!

Small boys: US TOO US TOO US TOOOOOOO

Momsie: Lord. Give me strength.

I know, right? Mother’s Day is not for the faint at heart.

So, there I am, at a changing room with mirrors all up in my business and fluorescent lighting and my heavens, why don’t we just shine a spotlight on me while we’re at it, right? And I am actually trying to discuss dress sizes with the hubster, which is demoralizing, and I kinda just want to collapse and ask for a sack cloth and ashes and call it done.

And then, Red suggests this purple number because he loves da purples. And I eye it. (I am out of the changing room at this point and dressed – I know I changed locations and didn’t want you to get confused and visualize me in my underwear. Me, IN my underwear underneath all those lights with the mirrors crowding around me was enough visuals for me – you don’t need to go there with me. Poor dears.)

So, I grab the purple dress even though it isn’t really anything I would ever wear, because Red is now cheeping like a small bird, “Dis one! Dis one mommah! It’s der purples! PURPLE!!!!!!” and I fear all the women in the store will start to think he’s special.

And then I try it on. (We’re back in the changing room.) And I blink. And come out of the changing room.

And all three boys (hubs included) smile. Blonde says, “Whoa. Dude. That’s NICE. You’re so pretty, momma!”

And I look in the mirrors, and tell them (the mirrors, not the boys), “Back OFF shiny ones! And behold. I AM pretty! No. Not that. I am HOT.”

It’s possible I embellished this with a quick hair toss. The boys all gasped and applauded.

And that’s how I now love Mother’s Day.

Now, how, you ask, does Netflix tie in to all of this? Well, because. Cinderella. Duh.

I know. It’s mushy. Stay with me. This is not normally my thing, the mush, but it has to be said.

Moms get lost under a layer of snot, whining, and malaise. We find sweatpants by the bed as we jump up to get the six-year-old to school on time, and we wear them with pride because our uniform merits comfort and stretch. We don’t mind, really, that we have a coffee stain on our t-shirt right smack where one should not be looking at our t-shirt. We embrace the coffee stain. “I love you, coffee stain,” we say, as we sashay down the drive way. “You are my piece of flair for the day.” We do all this for the most part. But lately, me with my coffee stains and my flair? I had been feeling a little bit… invisible.

Anyhow. When I stood under all those lights with the mirrors snickering, I put on that dress, and for a moment the darn mirrors got all misty. Or it was my eyes. And I pushed back my hair and tilted my head, and I felt VISIBLE. And gorgeous. And it wasn’t just the dress. The dress was just a… portal. It helped me see Me.

We all love Cinderella stories, because we know they are our own stories too. We love them because our wrinkled hearts need ironing out too every once in a while. And, Netflix has a slew of these movies that lift and tuck the tired soul. Movies like:

Screenshot 2015-05-13 12.35.14

 

 

 

 

 

 

and…

Screenshot 2015-05-13 12.35.21

 

 

 

 

 

 

and…

Screenshot 2015-05-13 12.35.37

 

 

 

 

 

 

But, my favorite, hands down, all time bestest Cinderella movie, besides the one with Gus Gus? Well, this one:

Everafterposter

It’s the real deal. Watch it some night when you have found yourself surrounded by toddlers and chaos for just a little bit too long for your liking. Once the cherubs are asleep, fix yourself a chocolate malted, some popcorn, and put your feet up. We all have a bit of Cinderella inside of us, because, after all, we all have days where we have to clean macaroni and cheese out of places no one should ever have to.

And we all have a fairy godmother. It’s the friend who takes us to get a pedicure and listens while we explain that we can’t, we just can’t do another day of laundry and crazy and strange stains in the bathroom. Or, it’s our sister who sends us texts that make us laugh when we have, once again, managed to make dinner a mediocre mess. Or, it’s even our husband who rubs our feet while we watch Netflix, and we renew and recharge for another day of Momhood.

Rock on, mommas. Be brave. Find your inner Cinderella. And:

Drew-Barrymore-in-Ever-After-just-breathe-GIF