Happy mothers day to all the mothers out there.
This years mothers day for me was, once again, a total wash. Last night Geoff went out shopping after work, his obligatory trip to Wal Mart.
"I'm going to buy a Barbecue," he told me.
"For mothers day?" I asked, but as it turns out, he had wanted to Barbecue supper and, apparently, needs a new Barbecue in order to do so.
So he returned with a giant stainless steel barbecue for himself, two paperback novels for me, which look totally gruesome at quick glance ("The Killing Room" and "The Blood Game" Yikes. Do I sense some underlying hostility here??), a pair of Tinkerbell pyjamas bearing the caption "If I'm pouting DO SOMETHING!!" and a goofy card. Literally. A Goofy card with some dumb cartoony poem.
Today I was shopping for Mothers Day cards and came across one that had a beautiful picture of a newborn infant being cradled in the loving arms his mother. The card read "I still remember the first time you held our child in your arms. I never thought I could love you more than I did in that moment. But I do."
I wanted that card. I was tempted to actually buy that card and sign Geoffs name on it and give it to myself. I mean, why, for the love of God WHY?? Why did it always have to be some over sized card with cartoon characters? I've complained to him before about it, and he always says in his defense that he lets the kids pick the cards out.
That's why, for him, I let the kids pick a card from them and I pick a card from myself.
This, apparently, had never occurred to him.
So anyways, he spent the entire night last night putting together his Barbecue, during which time I kept the kids sequestered in the house, because if there's one thing I know about Geoff it's that you do not, NOT, disturb him when he's got a hammer in his hand, or any kind of tool for that matter.
He was off to work already when I woke this morning with the kids. An hour later or so he called to say Happy Mothers Day. Thanks,I said, sweeping the floor. Oh and by the way, he said, could you run out and pick up some steaks for dinner tonight? And maybe some garlic bread?
No problem, I said.
So there I was, shopping for steaks for my own dinner, with three kids in tow. Payton was crying because she wanted in the cart. Alex was crying because he wanted out of the cart. Gage was demanding that he needed a new video game. And some triple A batteries for his Ipod, which he still had plugged into his ears. Intermittently, he would sing the lyrics to some song called "Bedrock." Lyrics which sounded terrible, and I might add, inappropriate for a twelve year old.
I plucked the ear piece from his ear, for which he refused to speak to me for several aisles.
And then I hurry home to marinate the steaks. Which was fine.
"I just need your help carrying the Barbecue out of the garage and up to the deck" Geoff tells me when he gets home from work. So then there I was, lugging a barbecue up a flight of stairs.
And then he makes a big production of throwing a freaking piece of meat on the Barbecue, flipping it over once, while I'm in the house making the potatoes and the salad and the garlic toast and the corn on the cob.
And he made me dinner??
How does that make any sense??
But I suppose I should be thankful.
At least it wasn't another ham scented candle??
Well, happy mothers day, anyways.