La La How The Life Goes On

Mama’s Day

Posted on: May 10, 2010

Happy Mother’s Day to all the women who do the impossible every day. I trust you had a day of eating bon bons in front of the Oxygen Channel. I keeed! I know you only watch BRAVO.

My day began with a delightful breakfast in bed…from McDonalds. Bambina was so excited for me to enjoy her favorite foods in the comfort of my beaudoir. So there I was, eating a truly disgusting Egg McMuffin, smooshed in my bed between Bambina and Baby Sister dropping maple syrup and egg detritus all over my sheets, thinking, “This is simultaneously the most unpleasant and yet joyous experience of my entire week.” Unpleasant due to the McDonald’s food. I generally don’t mind McDonalds, but this breakfast was dire. The cheese was…how to say?…wet. It just tasted not good, like it was pareve cheese or something; no milk. And it was wet. Not melty: wet. There is a critical difference, as you can imagine. So in order to salvage the culinary joy of the experience I scarfed my entire hash brown (super greasy but nonetheless delicious) in about .09 seconds.

Then it was off to Lowe’s home improvement because I’d promised Bambina weeks ago that we’d create an American Girl World on her bottom bunk, and the only thing we needed to make it happen was plywood. Plywood I’d been meaning to buy for weeks but that never happened due to my various hospitalizations, subsequent attempts at digging out of my morass of a kitchen and laundry room, ongoing ECP treatments, and daily time with Baby Sister. A trip to Lowe’s just wasn’t on the list of things I could manage to get done. So we had decided we’d do it yesterday; only yesterday I spent the day in the hospital, so today had to be the day. I just couldn’t disappoint her one more time.

Then, the original plan was that I would spend the afternoon at some hippie local coffeeshop writing and generally being in a place where I did not have to answer a million questions in a 3-minute span of time, where I could not be importuned to “read to me while I poopy” or “mama! Waaah!” But you know what? I’ve recently spent too much time away from my Joneses involuntarily, and while it really would have been kind of nice to check out for even an hour, I concluded that my definition of a great Mother’s Day didn’t necessarily include being away from the people to whom I’m the mother, especially since I’ve been away too much. Not to mention that Gram was coming over for her Mother’s Day tea, and lord has this lady (and the Pop) been on double duty lately–again due to my ongoing medical BS–so I’m going to go have coffee by my awesomely relaxed self and wish her a happy day in absentia? I think not. That’s what our friend Diddy would call bitchassness, and if there’s one rule by which I live my life, it’s “WWDD?” You know Diddy would have closed down the recording studio and called me to the Bad Boy Entertainment offices for a serious camera-ready chastisement, and I just couldn’t have handled that.

And then it was on to errand-running, because I have another ECP treatment tomorrow, rendering my day essentially useless. So off we went to the library, pharmacy, bank, post office. And then mercifully, dinner and bedtime. The Dada left early to go to the Red Sox game, i got the kids to bed and ate cereal for dinner while watching Desperate Housewives, a show I have not seen since waaay before Eva Longoria ever met Whosiewhatsie Parker. I was ready to flip the channel, thinking Feh, when I saw the delicious John Barrowman (of Torchwood fame) playing some really evil guy and figured I could burn an hour of brain cells on a played-out show if only to see Jack Harkness be nasty.

So, like Kelly LeBrock used to say in the 80’s Pantene commercials: “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.” You wish you’d had my day; I can feel your envy oozing through the screen, and that’s okay. I get that a lot, what with all the fabulousness of being me.


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