Give Mom the Gift of Time. Hard Time.

When I think of what I’d like for Mother’s Day, I often come to “My God, a stint in rehab sounds fantastic.” But Betty Ford and Sunset Malibu are really the only ones I’m interested in — Private beach access! Encouragement to walk around the lake every morning! Spa treatments, people! Rehab sounds AWESOME. But I’d have to pawn my child to come close to affording these facilities, and since that would make me NOT a mother, we find ourselves in an unfortunate Catch 22. Also I’m not addicted to anything that’s detrimental to my health. Unless you count Grey’s Anatomy. Sooo, I think the next best option is clear:

For Mother’s Day, I’d like to go to a white-collar, minimum-security prison.

Well of course I specify “white collar.” When you are prescribing a present for yourself, you need to be precise. Otherwise I’m going to end up kickin’ it for a week with a guy called “Issues” in cell block D. And that, my friends, is not a vacation.

In Austria, you can meditate on your private patio. Sign me up!

In a comfy minimum-security facility, you get to go to sleep at regular times and stay all night in your own bed. They cook for you, three times per day! I can read books all morning, or have long discussions about embezzlement. Plus I’d get an hour a day to work out. An HOUR. I will be so buff. At a place in Kentucky I can attend wellness workshops that focus on stress reduction. At other places I can check out an instrument and join an inmate band. Or become a dental assistant! Leatherworking classes sound fun. And think how useful I’ll be after my vacation if I take the vocational programs in baking and landscaping.

Prison sounds great. No more wondering what to wear in the morning. I could get one of those cute soap-on-a-ropes. I wouldn’t be responsible for anyone. Heck, I wouldn’t even be responsible for myself! What mom wouldn’t be thrilled with such a gift?

You might ask, “But Summer, how do I get my mother such a luxurious vacation? After all, one can’t just call a jail and make reservations.” To that I say, why not?! We should be able to call up the justice system and declare ourselves a threat to society. “Hello, correctional facility? If I don’t go to jail to get away from these kids RIGHT NOW, I’m going to commit a crime. Like mail fraud.” If that won’t work, and I’m told it won’t, then you’re going to need to frame mom. But you know what, it’s Mother’s Day–This is your job. I’m not going to plan it all out for you.

I’d Like to Thank the Academy

We’ve won an award. I say “we” because it’s customary to say you couldn’t have achieved your rampant success without your loyal fans, but really when I say “we” I mean “I” because I WON AN AWARD!

I used to win awards a lot, almost exclusively for playing the flute (and once for being OCD on a college camping trip), but it’s been a while. I expected one shortly after pushing an 8-pound human out of me, but the hospital never sent my engraved trophy. When I called about it they mumbled something about needing to tend to shooting victims.

In any event, someone has decided that Mom-Colored Glasses is worthy of recognition. I’ve received the Versatile Blogger Award, passed from blogger to blogger. Pretty much like a Screen Actor’s Guild award except a little more like a chain letter. According to the rules of the award (which I considered shunning because I’m a WINNER and winners pay rules no heed . . . but in this case the rules are fun) I must:

One: Express my deep gratitude to the blogger who bestowed the award — Laura at Time to Make the Brownies. Laura rocks. Her blog is laugh-out-loud funny, and I read it regularly even though I’m fairly certain Laura is skinnier than me. She’s very good at responding to comments on her blog, which I am tragically bad at. She loves being a mom but at the same time realizes she was insane to become one. She had self-diagnosed Post-Partum Tourette’s Syndrome, which is the most entertaining of the post-partum disorders. I could let her in the house when it’s so messy you could scrape an entire meal off the living room carpet, and she wouldn’t judge me. She’s probably my blogging soulmate. . . . That statement might freak her out, but it’s true.

Two: Tell your readers seven things about yourself.

1. I was the marching band drum major–think conductor, not twirling batons. This is an important distinction. Also, we were really, really good. I have a trophy for being the best drum major, ‘kay?
2. I once referred (in the form of a yell) to everyone else on the marching field as “a herd of cows” because they were moving so slowly. This did not win me points.
3. Mint toothpaste. Never, ever cinnamon.
4. About once per week I have a strong urge to do a handstand. I have never known how to do one, and would certainly break my neck if I let these compulsions get the best of me.
5. Coming from a childhood where we smuggled candy into movie theaters to save money and then savored the experience of eating it by sucking on each morsel as slowly as possible, I find shoveling a handful of M&Ms into my mouth and chewing them with abandon to be among life’s greatest luxuries.
6. For about seven months before I got pregnant, I took Krav Maga, which is the hand-to-hand combat system they teach Israeli soldiers. I came home after every class and tried deadly techniques on Mr. Embee. It’s the only sport I’ve ever enjoyed.
7. The textures of Tapioca and applesauce, as well as the smell of pure molasses, can make me vomit. You didn’t think you were getting through this without a poop or barf reference, did you?

Three: Pass the award on to 15 bloggers. Fifteen?! That really diminishes my own importance as an award recipient. Also I don’t read 15 blogs. Two of the blogs that deserve it (the aforementioned Time to Make the Brownies and A Fly on the Wall) have already received this very, very prestigious recognition. And I read a few others that are quite good, but I’m going to be extremely selective to make you think this is a really big deal and just pick one absolutely stellar blog. The award goes to . . .

A Peine for Your Thoughts by Taryn Maxwell. Taryn had me at her description of her body type being that of Grimace. In reality she is so skinny and beautiful she should come in at about No. 3 on my most-hated list, but I can’t put her there because she’s so freaking funny. She can operate a sewing machine, gives her husband a hard time, and enjoys a good drink–I like these things in a person. That she makes me snort with laughter is gravy. So, tag, you’re it, Taryn. A huge engraved blogging trophy is in the mail.

For Mother’s Day I Got You This Water Buffalo

So I read this USA Today story about Mother’s Day gift ideas that give back. I took it as a suggestion that in lieu of jewelry or flowers or whatever it was you were planning on getting at 11:59 p.m. the night before, you instead give a gift of, say, a mosquito net for a family in Africa in my name. I’m supposed to melt with compassion and pride that my child has thought of others instead of me, and think it’s the greatest Mother’s Day gift ever.

jcarillet/iStockphoto

Apparently I’m the worst person on Earth, because my initial, gut reaction was: WHAT?! All I do is GIVE to you family people, what with your constant need for food, shelter, love, Band-Aids, someone to get the booger off your finger — and on the one day you are supposed to think about ME for a change, you get somebody else a gift?!

I know, I suck. But you thought it too, didn’t you? Of course you did. Because it’s our DAY.

I told Mr. Embee about my musings on this topic and he worried that readers might hunt me down if I reveal how selfish I am. Bless his heart. So I’m asking, please don’t hunt me down, because if I’m maimed or killed, it’ll be harder to keep the blog going. Also, I slept on it and had some further thoughts. And guess what? Turns out I’m not a total jerk.

I’m not into huge gifts for Mother’s Day. I do not expect jewels on any Sunday in May. I also would not reject them, but you see what I’m saying. I truly love “activity” gifts. I want to spend time with my husband and child, much as that may shock you all. (Side note: Dads, you are required to make sure the Baby Mama is regaled on Mother’s Day. Don’t pull that “but you’re not MY mom” thing. When your kids are old enough to take matters into their own hands, they should, but you still need to do something for the moms in your life. I’m not going to say it’s the price of admission, but hey, a girl’s gotta feel loved. I digress.) Anyway really, please, don’t spend a bunch of money — amuse us. Take us on a picnic, bring us breakfast in bed, offer to change every diaper that day. Whatever. Make it a day where mom either gets to do something she really enjoys and/or gets out of something she hates. To us, that says you thought about the mom, and to an entire class of people for whom ‘taking care of myself’ equals tossing back a gummy vitamin, that kind of consideration really does mean a lot. Those vitamins are good, though.

Then I thought about USA Today even more. And I realized it’s a genius plan for the kids/dads out there who are intellectually incapable of planning anything in advance. Imagine with me: It’s Sunday morning. Mom comes downstairs. You realize you have completely failed. You didn’t even know Mother’s Day was in the spring. Hop on the computer, click a few buttons, and Ta-dah! “Happy Mother’s Day, honey. I was just about to make you an omelet. After I do the dishes and dress the kids, we’ll go on a relaxing family walk. Oh, and I’ve been thinking a lot about how important women are to the health and well-being of their families — nay, the world — and I provided a year of schooling for an Afghan girl in your name.”

Admission granted, hot stuff!

Okay, so I’m a little bit of a jerk still. But I’m a jerk with a soft spot, so I went to a bunch of the sites and saw all the adorable kids hugging their llamas and excited to eat mush, and my heart absolutely caved in. So in honor of all the moms who read this blog, I provided a safe birthing kit to a refugee mom (the water buffalo are a little beyond my budget). Somewhere in a war-torn country, the International Rescue Committee is going to bring a woman a kit, including blankets and clothes for her newborn, so that she and the baby can get a decent start. USA Today was right: I feel all warm inside, and I don’t think it’s the Bailey’s in my coffee. Happy Mother’s Day, everyone.

I still want a present.

=====

In all seriousness, lots of moms are going through the stuff of nightmares this year. I hope many families will consider helping someone less fortunate out. The USA Today story has links to several reputable organizations that make it easy to donate. Chem ‘em out. And don’t stalk me.

Gold-Star Day

Sally has a good behavior chart. It’s supposed to encourage her to do the things we like, such as cleaning up her toys or stopping whining before my hair frizzes. For each good behavior, she gets a star, and when she has 10 stars, she gets a small reward. Since I’m generally unmotivated but also a bit of a praise addict, I thought I, too, might be helped by a reward system. So far, I’ve scribbled down the following:

Good Behavior ———- Reward

Did not buy junk food in store. ———- Deserve a treat.

Thought about going to gym. ———- Skip gym.

Didn’t get road rage during commute. ———- Pat self on back for being superior human. Buy Starbucks mocha.

Did dishes. ———- Leave family room a mess. Eat some chocolate. But don’t use any dishes.

Put clean laundry away rather than use laundry basket as closet. ———- Sounds like a shopping trip is in order. Especially since now don’t know where anything is.

Took a shower and started dinner when I could have been napping. ———- Chocolate again, definitely. Am perfectly coifed Leave it to Beaver wife.

Lose five pounds. ———- . . . Seems like chocolate is the wrong choice here. Ah, nap and skip gym.

Put Sally to bed in record time without turning into Mean Mommy. ——— Open bottle of wine. Which will lead to chocolate.

Successfully covered stains on clothes and stayed awake while convincing frazzled new parents that it all gets much easier. ———- Brag to husband about being an excellent liar. Skip dishes and gym. Eat chocolate.