Mother’s Day Is Just The Worst

I saw all of your lovely pictures on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram. There were a lot of nice breakfasts and brunches and early dinners. Plenty of hugs and kisses and homemade cards and pretty flowers. There were naps granted and lots of quiet time. One of my mom friends even got to read a book! It looked really nice. You all looked really nice.

I was excited yesterday, Mother’s Day, because the shower I took was long enough that I got to shave my legs. Well, from the knees down anyway. Not my whole legs. No one has time for that! But still, for a day that’s supposed to be all about me, that extra-long shower felt pretty luxurious. Sure, I had to let Millie watch a fifth episode of Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse in exchange but I say, “WORTH IT!” (Maybe. I don’t know. That show is really, really terrible.)

Mother’s Day has to be my least favorite holiday of all of the holidays. (And, that’s saying a lot because I find Halloween to be a giant all-around pain.) Mother’s Day is loaded with a weird combination of unrealistic expectations and forced relaxation. Like, for some reason I just expect that my kids will suddenly be more considerate and thoughtful and less screechy because it’s a special day for ME! Less bickering over the iPad and more playing Lego nicely with one another. Less hitting and more hugs. Fewer tantrums because the wind is blowing too hard and more general acceptance that I don’t control the weather. Surprisingly, that doesn’t magically happen. Also, there’s nothing more conducive to relaxation than everyone telling you repeatedly to “just go relax!” as the dishes pile up and someone spills a drink all over the kitchen table and you realize someone else showered with the curtain outside of the tub and everyone is fighting while all of next week’s prep is being ignored so you can sit in the bedroom and listen to your husband yell, “CHILL! OUT!” at the kids.

Such a special day.

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The high point of my Mother’s Day: brownie and ice cream consumed around 10:00 in the morning on Friday. It was all downhill from here.

My Mother’s Day weekend started on Thursday, when I sent Bob off on a weekend away with some of his high school friends. Now, in hindsight, the timing of this trip was probably ill-advised. However, the date was settled on back in September of last year and Bob deserves a weekend away and a break from the drudgery and some fun every once in awhile. He pledged to be home mid-day on Sunday so I got over all of this pretty quickly.

But, on Friday afternoon, I discovered something so awful in Millie’s bedroom that I don’t know if I can even adequately describe the horror. It rivaled the Great Poop Incident of 2013 only… it was pee. There was some sort of a horrible, absolutely tragic series of potty accidents followed by a completely misguided attempt to cover up what happened and then 24 hours passed before I realized that things were… wet… everywhere and it all resulted in me standing in the middle of her room cry-yelling, “WHY? WHY? WHY? WHYYYYYYY?” Millie, unfortunately, has not been able to answer that question because every time I ask her what in the sam hell happened in there, she politely requests to “talk about it later.”

Two things that made this situation worse: 1. Millie rarely has accidents and 2. the entire floor of Millie’s room was absolutely COVERED with stuff at the time this all went down. Despite our best efforts (asking nicely, cajoling, bribery, hollering), Millie’s bedroom closely resembles a pit of despair and garbage. She hoards anything and everything in her room so when she had an accident(s), there was TREMENDOUS collateral damage. I spent Friday, a good portion of Saturday and even Sunday sifting through the belongings I picked up off of her floor for anything that could be salvaged.

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Definitely not garbage. Must be kept. Do not throw away! Might smell a little like pee.

The good news? Millie’s room is finally picked up! The bad news? I sent an email to my dad asking him to bring their steam cleaner with him when he visits next week for… “unfortunate reasons.”

I haven’t even begun to recover from what I witnessed. I have a feeling it will be some time yet.

On Saturday morning, Charlie didn’t ask for breakfast when he woke up so the emergency red light emoji immediately started flashing in my brain. When he got dressed but also wanted to lay back down in bed, I knew it was all over. He was vomiting before we even hit 9:00 a.m. Now, normally, a stomach bug while solo parenting would send me into a bit of a panic but not this time. With what I had lived through the day before in Millie’s room, a little puke could barely make a dent in my armor. I set Charlie up with a floor bed to minimize damage, plopped a tiny screen in front of his face, refused his requests for food and got to work wiping down the house to prevent the spread of whatever he had.

Not to bright side Charlie’s stomach bug but having him out of commission meant relative peace and quiet for the other two kids who play together nicely. That gave me an opportunity to make progress on Millie’s “situation” and work on getting Charlie’s room ready for his new bed. Combined with a delivery of wine and cheese from friends Saturday afternoon, my Mother’s Day weekend was awful but manageable.

Then, on Sunday, with Charlie feeling better, the kids all started fighting again before I even swallowed ONE SIP of coffee, Bob had not arrived home yet, the house was getting trashed and everything was becoming awful rather quickly. My friend, Jenn, texted me Mother’s Day greetings and by the end of our messaging, I got the impression that she was actually putting her phone down and backing away slowly, like I was a bomb about to go off.

Bob arrived home with a funny card and some chocolate and flowers and that all helped but our kids were AWFUL yesterday. WE didn’t even want to hang out with them. HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY! Now, leave me alone.

Anyway, it’s all over now. Except for the stomach bug. That’s not over. Millie woke up this morning, asked for the barf bucket and then promptly went back to sleep for FOUR hours.

A mother’s job is never done, amirite?

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