Mother’s Day – Part Deux

Preparing to head off to The Park to take Ma out for a belated Mother’s Day dinner… Couldn’t take her out last weekend, since i spent both days in a motorcycle rider’s course – getting myself legally certified to ride a two-wheeled death machine. 

Nice way to spend Mother’s Day, i think…

Speaking with my children after passing the course, we somehow got to the subject of death and The Boy (again) enquired about my post-death plans.

The Boy:  Are you planning to be buried when you die?

daisyfae:  My preference is to be cremated.  Hate to take up space.  But if the two of you decide you want a “place” where you can go to remember me, it’s up to you.  i certainly won’t give a shit at that point…

The Boy:  I just think it would be cool to go to your grave on Mother’s Day, pour out half of a forty, and say “Missin’ you, Moms”.

daisyfae:  Why does it have to be my grave?  Wouldn’t it be just as much fun to do it every year to a dead stranger?

Another Mother’s Day

My two spawn are pretty good with the Mother’s Day presents.  In 2008, it was a party – with a great cake.  Last year? It was a silly multi-generational dinner, topped off with a great card.

We tend toward the simple when it comes to holidays, preferring a very low-key approach.  Upon my return from my motorcycle test, i found this on the dining room table…

Once again?  They get it right…

Flowers, a pack of smokes and single malt scotch...

Upon closer inspection?  It was the thoughtful addition of “BK Technology” from the floor of The Boy’s car that made me giggle this year…  Just in case i need to inhale that bottle of scotch through a half-inch “pipe”?  i’ll have one handy…

The BK Pipe. Smoke 'em if ya got 'em...

* Personal note to The Unbearable Banishment?  Told ya… i know my kids, and they know their Ma…

Three generations…

 Three generations of ‘fucked up’, that is…  Brought Mom up to stay with me for four days while my sister, S, and niece, DQ, are out of town for a family wedding.  Some dysfunctional moments…

– Mom eats.  A lot.  Constantly.  Before going to get her, i made a basic grocery run for healthy breakfast food.  Before we left her house, she bagged up an assortment of non-healthy snacks to make sure she’d have a little something to “take with her medicine”.  A bag of Doritos, box of snack crackers, pita bread and hummus, cookies, spreadable cheese… and two small orphaned bags of Cheetos.

– Celebrating my daughter’s university graduation, we had home made pizza, cake and ice cream for dinner Friday night.  Followed by the traditional “Granny kicks our asses and wins the kids tuition money” poker game.  This year?  The Girl won.  We bagged it, and watched “Slumdog Millionaire” – which required running commentary by me to explain what was going on throughout most of the movie.  But she enjoyed it…

Read 'em and weep. Bitches...

– Mom can’t read because of her failing eyesight.  But somehow managed the subtitles in the movie just fine, and was reading items from the New York Times to me this morning over breakfast.  i’m confused…

– Took Momma to a “drag race” Saturday afternoon.  That’d be a “Walk A Mile In Her Shoes” fundraiser… Over 100 men.  Racing around a quarter mile track, in heels.  Holy crap, it was funny…  To hear the little dears whining about the discomfort, blisters, twisted ankles?  Precious.  Seeing the contestants ‘high fiving’ Mom in her wheel chair as the “Pump Parade” passed?  Delicious.  We cheered the fastest ones, and encouraged the slow ones, telling them they still looked fetching in their peep-toe pumps…

Stiletto Boyz in da Hood

– Took both Momma and my children out for a very nice meal Saturday to celebrate Mother’s Day.  The Boy was hoping it was one of those ‘challenge’ restaurants, where you can order a 72 ounce steak, and get it for free if you can eat the whole thing.  Um…  no… Baby’s first Filet Mignon.  i think i’ve won him over on this one…  Perhaps he gained an understanding the concept of “quality” over “quantity” when it comes to cow parts.

– Not sure how it happened, but during the course of our dinner, we managed to cover a ridiculous number of horrible conversation topics.  Including, but not limited to:  “Prom Night Dumpster Babies“, incest, genocide, Stalin, photographing excrement and farting on toddlers. 

– Mr. Pickles is channeling Lassie.  Since Mom arrived, he has attached himself to her.  Sleeping by her bedside – almost in perfect position to trip her should she get up in the middle of the night.  We decided he’s waiting for her to fall down a well, so he can sound an alarm and get some good doggie treats…

Hey... Her pajamas are full of cake crumbs. I'm not going anywhere...

– As the bill for dinner arrived, i was surprised when The Boy reached for it.  He picked it up, and i looked over, somewhat confused… as he handed it across the table to me, he and The Girl both busted out laughing.  “Awww…. She looked hopeful!  Did you see that? Wasn’t that cute?”.  Bastards.  Complete bastards…

– Last year, my children did a lovely job of tormenting surprising me on Mother’s Day.  With a bit less fuss, this year, they were rewarded with a full five minutes of me laughing my ass off at their gorgeous card (created by one of The Girl’s friends).  Inside?   The handwritten sentiment:

Happy Mother’s Day!

Hey, you tried.

Just right…

My children are special.

Yes, this is the mantra of all parents – whether we bother to state this fact out loud, or keep it tucked smugly in our heads, we somehow believe that our genetic products are talented, brilliant, gifted and without question – above average.

For Mother’s Day this year, they have once again nailed it.  Like Annie, we’ve generally kept this as a low key holiday.  Like Annie, over the years i’ve been delighted with the school art project gifts – many of which are still displayed in my home.  Granted, the year they had their Dad kick in to get me a Bose Sound Dock for my iPod was pretty cool, too…

No firm plans for this year, The Boy and The Girl arrived home yesterday – with The Boy driving almost 2 hours after work, arriving at 1:00 am.  We stayed up, they drank my beer, and yakked a bit, then i crawled back to bed around 2:30 am.

Scratching and shuffling down the hallway this morning at 9:30 to let Mr. Pickles into the yard for his morning bio-break, i discovered that my kitchen had been prepared for quite a celebration!

Looking at the detail, i saw touches from both The Boy and The Girl.  Clearly the color selection was from my daughter – bright primaries!  Always the artist!  The beer bottles that say “Par-TEEE” were from The Boy.

But the final touch?  It has become a tradition in our little family to find new and exciting ways to frighten amuse the sweet ladies at our local bakery*.   This was the hand of The Boy.

In fact, my children are talented, brilliant and gifted.  And the sentiment on the cake – quite true. 

________

* The Boy turned 18 on the day that i had my biopsy (and learned i had breast cancer) followed by a mortgage closing to settle divorce arrangements.  i was swamped that day and asked the kids to go to the bakery and pick out a cake.  The cake, under the artistic hand of The Boy, said “Happy Birthday You Sexy Bitch”…

Post-party pictures:  After the break…