Husband Fail: Mother’s Day Mayhem

Dear husband,

I love you, but WOW you dropped the ball this mother’s day. I realize that the kids are all 5 and under, so the bulk of the holiday burden falls on you. I realize that right now, mother’s day is just another holiday you have to think about and deal with, but this time entirely on your own.

Kind of like my birthday, I’ve learned to not expect much.

So this year, I decided to make it super easy on you. We’re flat broke, so I told you not to buy flowers. “We have plenty of flowers in the yard. I don’t need any in the house.” I lied. There’s really no need for you to spend $15 on cut flowers when there’s other things – free things – you could do instead. I told you that for mother’s day, all I wanted was a nice clean house, so I could enjoy the day with the family and not think about all the work waiting for me.

It’ll be easy, I told you. All you have to do is the dishes, pick everything up really quick and vacuum. I’m not expecting the bathrooms cleaned or the sink sanitized. No laundry. No organizing of any type. Just the bare basics.

You emptied the dishwasher, with 50% of the dishes winding up in the wrong spot or on the counter. Then you filled it and didn’t turn it on. You were so proud of yourself, like a Peacock with his feathers fluffed up. Time for a boob grab – that type of effort will surely result in getting some, right? Wrong. So wrong.

Deep breaths.

After the “dishes were done”, you decided to unleash a special kind of hell on me and the kids. First up on your day of torture, you planned for us to go on a bike ride. I hate bike riding with the kids. Hate it with a passion. Ever since a human passed through my hips, I can no longer sit on a bike seat comfortably. Bike seats are now the perfect size to wedge up and into the bones of my pelvis, pushing them apart and creating a bruised feeling.

On top of the high degree of comfort afforded by the ridiculously small bike seat, our kids are not self propelled. And, there’s 3 of them. I suggested letting them attempt to ride their bikes (Don’t judge me because my 5 year old can’t ride a bike.) while we walked on the bike trail, pushing #3 in his stroller.

Of course, you had another idea. You came up with this great plan that involved 2 baby seats and a 1/2 bike attachment. #1 (the oldest) would ride on the 1/2 bike, connected to the back of your seat. #2 (35-pound middle child) would sit in the baby seat on the back of your bike and #3 would ride on the back of my bike.

Thank God for helmets.

I’m sure you can see where this is going. Two attachments on your bike didn’t work out. You finally admitted defeat once there was bloodshed.

Next up on your day of torture, you decided a trip to the beach was in order, because why not? I’m not on medication that makes me prone to sunburn or anything. Good times.

I said no, I gave you 5-million reasons why we couldn’t, but you loaded up the car with 5 times as much crap as we’d ever need and headed off. Two hours later, I could barely move. The kids – all of them – are sunburned too despite the SPF 50 sunblock I used. What fun.

After getting cooked at the beach, it was time to come home. The house was still a wreck. The dishes were still half done. I sent you out for a pizza – to hell with trying to save money. All my dishes were dirty and I didn’t want to have to clean the kitchen to cook. While you were gone, I picked up clothes, took out the trash and quickly righted the wrong that happened in the bathroom. In 20 minutes, I did 10 times the cleaning you did all day – even though a cleaning break was *supposed* to be my gift.

You came home. We ate. You asked if I had a nice mothers day. I didn’t say anything. You attempted to make a move on me. I shut that shit down because at that point, all I could think about was the mess waiting for me in the morning. I went to sleep.

Maybe next year we can skip Mother’s Day. I’ve already deleted my birthday from your Google Calendar. Lesson learned.

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