I don't want flowers. It's not that I don't like flowers. They are beautiful and a pleasant reminder that someone, somewhere is thinking about me and I am not diametrically opposed to them (so, husband of mine, you still have to get me flowers sometimes). But flowers are expensive and they die. Plus they die even faster in our house because I have to keep them on top of the refrigerator and even then, it's not uncommon to find Gideon with a petal or a leaf in his mouth . . . .
No, I don't want chocolate. Chocolate should not be reserved for special occasions. I want chocolate. Every. Single. Day.
No, I do not want to go out to eat with my family. Going out to eat with a large-ish family that has four children under ten years old and two with autism and expecting to have a nice, relaxing meal is, well, no. It's not going to happen. Besides the fact there are only two places where we can go that make everyone happy: McDonald's or Jason's Deli. One has a play area and the other has free ice cream. Both involve me getting up 2000 times to refill drinks, clean up spills (someone always spills), and eat food served on a tray. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Three years ago, when I was about 19 months pregnant with Katherine (and still three months to go), my husband gave me the best Mother's Day gift ever. On the Saturday morning before Mother's Day, he came into our bedroom and said, "Sharon, you have the day off for Mother's Day."
"Huh?"
"You have the day off. You don't have to do anything. I'll do it all." He seemed pretty pleased with himself.
I was dubious. "Really? You'll do it all?"
"I'm mom today."
I choked back a laugh. "Okay. Have at it."
I realize I could have left the house and spent some time on my own. And I did for a bit but I have to tell you what a joy it was to be at my house that day.
If two of the boys were having a wrestling match over a book, Daddy took care of it.
If someone needed a diaper change, that was all Daddy.
Oh, you're hungry and you're telling me this mere seconds after I sat down? No problem, go ask Dad.
You'd like to play outside and can't get the door open? That's awesome. Go ask Daddy. I think he's in the bathroom.
When Gideon found an enormous mud pit in our backyard and rolled around in it like a pig on holiday (I maybe watched him do it. Okay, I may have tried to stop him. Well, not very loudly) and looked like this after:
All of you little monsters, er, munchkins, want breakfast AND lunch AND dinner? Talk to The Man.
You'd like to watch "The Big Red Clifford Movie" for the 47th time today? Ask Daddy to turn it on and then make him sit right next to you while you watch it.
Someone unrolled our last roll of toilet paper through the entire downstairs? Sounds like a problem for Super Dad!
You know what I did? I sat. It was lovely. But the more I rested, the more haggard and ragged my husband looked. By bedtime, he was exhibiting signs of an impending Mommy, I mean, Daddy Meltdown. The short temper, the exhaustion, counting down the seconds until the kids go to sleep, the empty love tank. Yup, he had it all.
Now, I'm not going to assume my husband thought this would be an "easy," free gift. I'm not going to assume he thought he'd get through the day on his good looks and a smile. I'm not going to assume he was thinking, "I got this in the bag," before he even started. I'm not going to assume that perhaps he might have realized a tiny bit more about what I deal with every day.
Nope, not making any assumptions.
But I will say this, it was truly the best Mother's Day gift I have ever received. I got to enjoy my kids without being in charge of my kids. For once, I got to hang out and not boss anyone around. I got to laugh and giggle and not yell at someone to not put anything in the toilet. I got to read a book with a kid and not stop to make dinner. I got to snuggle with my babies instead of arguing about why they couldn't have their fifth popsicle in an hour.
I don't know if I'll ever get this gift again (hint, hint) but I do know I'll remember it for a long, long time.
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