How to be a good dad on Mother's Day

My husband is pretty great on Mother’s Day. Or he tries to be. He whisks the kids away at the crack of dawn for their annual pilgrimmage to McDonald’s for our traditional Mother’s Day feast of rubber pancakes and processed sugar. He knows I don’t want an attempted-cooking mess to clean up and the idea of sitting in a crowded restaurant with morning sickness while trying to keep two kids from stabbing each other with crayons while all the corsaged grandmas judge me is not cool. It’s one day. So he tries. But he could improve!


Please change a diaper while you’re being awesome. Ignorance of diapers is not bliss. It’s gross. I could sleep until noon (okay, 8:30) because he’s a real swell guy who knows it’s my special day. The problem is that when I do get up, the baby is still wearing the same diaper I put her in at 7:00 last night. Her butt is swelled up like a tick about to pop and she smells like the sewer. Your senses! Use them!

Point two: I know there’s not much selection when it comes to fast early breakfast that I don’t have to cook, but try to stick to eggs and biscuits or even take-out from a real restaurant. Loading the kids up with Happy Fun Sugar Buns topped with Tooth Rot Sauce means they’ll be in tantrum mode just in time for your mother to come over. NOT FUN.

Gifts: Be reasonable. My husband doesn’t do the accounting in our house. If I didn’t reign things in on a daily basis, this place would be festooned with servants and gold bars. Oh, and we’d be bankrupt! When it comes to buying gifts for Mother’s Day, I’m not there to press the Sense button for him, so he comes up with stuff like a $100 spoon. I’m not kidding. I got a $100 spoon for Mother’s Day last year and the worst part was I already had a $100 spoon he got me for our anniversary. What is it about me that says I need a $100 spoon? I know. It must be Man Gene that says expensive = better and spoon = lady. Why doesn’t he just rip open his shirt to reveal a mane and roar at me? I learned long ago I cannot trust him at the grocery store. He’ll come home with $12 milk that is just as good as the $4 milk. Stores probably know this and put all the expensive, inflated stuff right at man eye level. But seriously, some cute slippers or a manicure would be just fine.


I guess this is for giant royals to slurp their oatmeal. Oh, and I’m supposed to polish it I think. A gift that keeps on giving!

The rest of the day (and still speaking of gifts): For some reason, Mother’s Day at our house ends at 9:30 AM after I’ve thrown out the McDonald’s breakfast that I ate with my gilded spoon. Then it turns into Grandma’s Day. That’s fine, that’s cool, I get that his mom does a lot for us and I wouldn’t trade her for the world (maybe a few spoons – I kid!) but then I have to throw a shindig. I spend the rest of the day baking cobblers, vacuuming, getting two kids dressed in presentable outfits and finding a solution to covering the giant orb that has become my midsection. On top of it, I’m in charge of buying gifts for both my mothers-in-law. That’s right, I have two and their both his. He could make this day much more awesome by participating.

Next year? I want 12 hours in a hotel. Alone. After that I’d miss all these faces too much and have to run back home, but just one night of sleep and room service should do it. Happy Mother’s Day!


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