My Mother's Day was interesting. I slept restlessly, so when my husband left for work at 7, I stayed in bed. I got up around 8, walked into my living room and stopped dead in my tracks. Have you ever just known that there was someone in your house that wasn't supposed to be there? Yeah, I had that feeling. I stood there with my heart pounding for a minute, then I screamed. I screamed loud. There was a half-naked hairy man sitting at my desk, using my computer, and it took me three lungfuls of screams to realize it was just my husband.


I suspect I know why he decided to take the day off in honor of me. It's because he forgot about Mother's Day until very late Saturday night, when his sister called to remind him to call their mom. Helllloooo, that's what he has me for - I would have reminded him. Granted, it would have been late in the day, but I would have reminded him.


Anyway, apparently he thought it was a good idea to take the day off to make up for the fact that he forgot. Okie dokie. It warmed my heart for a minute. Then the girls were up, hollering for breakfast, drinks, cartoons, a clean diaper and chocolate. An hour later, I had all of the above taken care of, minus the chocolate. Pffft. If I had chocolate, there's no way I would be sharing it with the rugrats.


Two hours, one poopy diaper, three toddler fight-to-the-death matches and two go-rounds about homework with my teenager later, I had truly forgotten that my husband was home. He wandered into the kitchen, scratching his belly and stretching (browsing eBay takes a lot out of a guy) and asked me, "What's for lunch?"


"A three decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce, dear."

"Isn't a toadstool like a mushroom? You know I don't like mushrooms."


Idiot.


I made grilled cheese sandwiches for the kids (all 4 of them). After my honey's tummy was all full, he got the bright idea to make lunch for me. That was mainly because he ate the grilled cheese I made for myself. Trying to play along, I went to change another dooky diaper and waited. Imagine my surprise when 3.4 seconds later, he brought me a plate. I'm not sure which smelled worse, the diaper or what was on the plate. Here's a pic.





That, my friends, is a pickled sausage sandwich, complete with fake cheese. The bite you see taken out of it was there when he set the plate in front of me. I eyeballed the sandwich, then eyeballed my husband. "So, how is it?"

"Eh. I'm glad I ate grilled cheese."

Are you kidding me? My husband would eat deep fried dog crap, and he thinks the sandwich (if you can really even call it that) is gross, yet he expects me to eat it? RIGHT. I'll hold out for dinner.

Fast forward through two more diapers, one argument about taking out the trash with my son, two incidents with markers, one broken glass cleanup and three phone calls. My husband went outside to look at my minivan's front left wheel. It's been making this noise every time I hit a bump like there's a chain wrapped around the wheel. I have to think that's a bad thing. Turned out it was nothing but a loose pin (only a man would think that was a good thing), and he fixed it. He went to take it for a test drive.

A few minutes later, I heard the front door open. "Hey, Robin, can you bring me one of those big trash bags? You know, the big ones?"

I pulled out a trash bag, walked to the front door and handed it to him, annoyed that he couldn't just come get it himself. I guess it was my aggravation that made me not really look at him, because I was a little shocked when I looked up a minute later to see him hopping, sack race style inside the trash bag, across the house.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

"Ummm I have some oil on me."

Some oil might have been an understatement. He looked like he has taken a sponge bath in the oil pan.

"What. Did. You. Do."

"Nothing, sweetie, it's fine. Just let me shower and I'll go clean up the mess."

Apparently, he had set a big kitty litter jug full of used motor oil on top of my van. We don't even have a cat, and he wasn't changing my oil, so why he did this to begin with is beyond my comprehension. When he drove the van away to listen for the chinking noise, he left it on top of the roof. My driver's side window was down. He hit a bump. It fell over and exploded, drenching the entire driver's side of my van with old, icky oil - including my husband and driver's seat.

I couldn't bring myself to take a picture. It was ugly. Very ugly.

He cleaned it up with some brake cleaner. It will probably eat a hole right through the butt of my pants the next time I drive somewhere, but there is no visible oil on my seat. Perhaps that was his plan all along - peekaboo pants.

It took all my energy to make dinner and bathe the kids, but I had something to look forward to after I got them in bed. I had lemon bars. Ooey gooey lemony goodness, sprinkled with powdered sugar. Yum. Half the pan was gone by the time I got one, and there were a few fingerprints in the ones that were left, but at least I had something special today, even if I did have to make it myself. ;)