Yesterday was Mother's Day. I was afforded the chance to sleep in past 8:00, which is a rare luxury! Scott and Robby sneaked out to get me coffee and a doughnut for breakfast, and I was able to drink my coffee in peace. Then, as if timed by a clock, my Mother's Day hour expired and it was back to my normal life. Yes, apparently doting has a time limit, and it is about 60 minutes.
As soon as my coffee was finished I found myself in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher and trying to wrestle Robby away from the sink. While I did have a wonderful day with my husband and little boy, I would be remiss if I failed to notice some discrepancies between Mother's Day and Father's Day celebrations in our family.
To be fair, Scott did encourage me to stop cleaning the kitchen. However, he didn't exactly offer to do it himself. True, he would have been fine letting chicken bones sit on the counter for another day. Smells don't seem to affect him. Experience showed me that leaving a household task over the weekend merely leads to a hectic Monday as I play catch up on all the housekeeping. So while I appreciate the sentiment of "Don't work on Mother's Day" it is simply not practical!
On Father's Day, Scott is often met with pancakes and bacon in bed. Last year Robby and I pulled out the juicer and squeezed fresh orange juice. I love Starbucks, and I appreciate his taking Robby to get me a latte. He also picked up a sprinkled covered doughnut for Robby. Rather than sitting at the kitchen table with him while he ate it so that I could sip my coffee in bed, Scott allowed Robby to eat his doughnut in our bedroom. It took me 15 minutes to get the ground in sugar sprinkles out of the white carpet.
Restaurants are always crowded on Mother's Day, leading to long waits and sub-par food. We have always chosen to eat at home on these holidays. I was told that I could cook anything I wanted for dinner. For Father's Day, at his request, I prepared filet mignon with crumbled blue cheese, crab cakes, twice baked potatoes and a homemade chocolate pie. Last night we had meatloaf.
Nascar, which typically has a race every Sunday, traditionally does not have an event on Mother's Day. Father's Day is typically spent watching racing all day long while I deliver assorted snacks and drinks bedside. The absence of a race did not mean that the television was not the center attraction on Mother's Day. Apparently the Dirty Jobs marathon was riveting TV. So much for watching my sappy chick flick!
I know that Scott and Robby appreciate me and everything that I do. I also know that there is no way Scott could meet the expectations set forth by the Hallmark and 800 Flowers commercials. I do have to admit that my feelings are a little hurt that I had to remind him to hang my traditional Mother's Day banner. Is that petty? The commercials are not realistic and I think they should be boycotted.
We were talking this afternoon, and he said that these holidays simply mean more to women than they do to men. I have to agree with that assessment. I am going to start a new movement. After all, the doting and spoiling rarely lasts past the last sip of coffee. I hope that everybody had a wonderful Mother's Hour!