In our family you just don’t get a measly day, rather you get an entire weekend to celebrate successful fertilization and the subsequent birth (if you are so lucky). We do this for two reasons: the first being that Jack and I are bitter that there aren’t enough days in the year devoted entirely to us (seperately), and the second being that both our mothers and fathers are alive and well and living within 10 miles of our home. Thank God, of course, but wanting to celebrate with them used to cut into our special Hallmark driven holiday. So, our parental celebration weekend starts after work on that Friday.
We do our best to make it a special weekend for the other. On Mother’s Day Weekend Jack went out of his way to take care of me. He took me to restaurants, he watched the girls, he let me sleep in and relax by the pool, and was just generally awesome. He and the girls bought me front row center tickets to the Weird Al concert. I love Weird Al almost as much as I love Phil Collins (year before last’s Mother’s Day present). So yeah, Jack knows how to make special days special.
Me? Not so much. I start out with the best of intentions but by Sunday I kind of fizzle out and make him get his own damned ice water. (Did I mention that he caters to my every whim on MDW? Because he does.) It’s not that I don’t appreciate all that he does, because I do, and he does a lot. Way more than the other dads in our neighborhood. I’m just selfish. Making the man get his own iced beverages. What a bitch! And even though I started off this year by promising myself that I would be as good to him as he was to me on my special weekend (and I was for the first day and 1/2), by 11:00 a.m. Sunday morning I was ready for us to resume our usual weekend routine where he takes over with the girls because I’ve been with them 24/7 and their lives are in danger. Also, he wanted to Steve Austin my carefully chosen gift (bigger, better, faster), and that totally hurt my feelings.
The man just doesn’t appreciate a good bargain is all I have to say. Although, yeah, sure, why would he settle for a 5.6 inch digital frame that has internal memory and an external memory card and a cute remote and the ability to play not only photographs, but videos and mp3s and fit into my limited budget when on E-Bay he could find something for twice the size at, how did he put it? Oh yeah, “a much better price percentage wise than what you paid.” When I likened his smackdown of my carefully chosen (it was on sale and had a rebate!) to me asking him on Mother’s Day why he’d been too cheap to get me a backstage pass so that I could actually meet Weird Al instead of only enjoying his witty lyrics and toe-tapping polka jams from front and center, Jack stared at me blankly clearly not getting it.
“Fine,” I huffed, and then flounced away. “Just next year? I’m letting you buy your own damned gift.”
“But I love the essence of it,” he called after me. “It’s just what I wanted, only too small and with crap for memory.”