I was feeling a bit obligated (should I say oblogated) to post something in honor of Mother's Day. I started to think about my own beloved, 87-year-old mom, and what a great job she and my dad did raising me and how wonderful I turned out and all. But there's too much sap to that angle. Still, I'd like to say up front that I love you more than ever, Mom, and thank you again for all your sacrifices.
Also, I forgot to mail your card .....
... When you're married to a rocket scientist, Mother's Day celebrations tend to be cut-and-dried: cut flowers from the Stop & Shop and a complimentary load of wash ....
... In 2009, I spent Mother's Day in The Virgin Islands with two of my wonderful, extraordinary sisters. No husbands; no kids. I doubt anything will top that year ....
So in lieu of Mother's Day in Paradise, this in my opinion would be the next best gift:
It's a fairy tale, a wish come true: a Mother's Day Personal Assistant, who for a day will do and take all the crap I put up with in the course of a weekday so I don't have to.
Ok, a slave .....
My perfect day would go something like this:
To start, breakfast in bed, and hand me my clothes. Make the bed, then clean my bathroom before and after I shower (don't forget the grout); exfoliate my back.
Feed, water and amuse the cat, then let him in and out 1,000 times over the next 24 hours. I will handle petting him, but you can relieve me if I get tired ....
Empty the dishwasher, reload.
Gather up all of No. 1 Son's hats, shoes, sunglasses, keys, books, etc. and put them by the back door.
Empty the refrigerator of all leftovers. Unstop garbage disposal after said leftovers clog it up. Go grocery shopping to restock refrigerator so as to create more leftovers which will clog up the garbage disposal .....
Fetch my jacket, shoes, purse, phone, keys, water bottle, etc.
Chauffeur me to Target; let me off at the curb in front of the door. Push the cart. Fill cart as I point to items. Don't forget to redeem the coupons. Schlep all 122 bags back to car and house and kitchen and pantry and fridge.
Carry my purse, bags, keys; open doors for me. If it's raining, hold an umbrella for me.
Prepare and serve me meals, then clean up afterwards. I will chew and swallow the food myself.
Gather up all of No. 1 Son's hats, shoes, sunglasses, keys, books, etc. and put them by the back door.
Fetch me the remote, answer the phone and door. Pick up the napkin, piece of cereal, and that hated card inserted into EVERY SINGLE DELIVERY of EVERY SINGLE COPY of 'The New York Times' that I'm supposed to send back to subscribe -- duh, I already do! -- and which always, ALWAYS, inevitably, predictably, 365 days a year, ends up on the floor ....
Ok, I've calmed down, so to resume:
Also pick up all of the used tissues on the bedroom floor that fell short of the waste basket.
Run up and down the stairs 200 times a day doing laundry, cleaning, emptying trash, opening and closing windows, curtains and blinds, and turning appliances, electronics and lights on or off.
Locate all lost socks.
Empty/refill the dehumidifier/humidifier, whichever is applicable.
Bring me snacks decorated with pretty garnishes and also some pastel-colored beverages in stemware with little paper umbrellas in them.
Tell me I'm brilliant and beautiful and how it looks like I've lost some weight. Several times. But be creative with the flattery. Laugh at all of my puns, no matter how terrible.
Dial the phone number for me as I call my Mom. Hold the phone for me while I talk to her. I will do the talking myself.
Run to the gas station/bank/drug store, and remember to pick up that item I forgot to tell you to buy.
Gather up all of No. 1 Son's hats, shoes, sunglasses, keys, books, etc. and put them by the back door.
Massage my hands and feet while making witty conversation.
Watch 'HouseHunters' with me on HGTV without groaning and calling it 'Housefuckers.'
Gather up all of No. 1 Son's hats, shoes, sunglasses, keys, books, etc. and put them by the back door.
And finally, hand me my pajamas, fluff my pillow, tuck me in and turn off the Tv for me.
... Sounds pretty perfect, right?
I'm accepting applications as of now. Mothers need not apply ... come to think of it, sounds like the perfect job description for a man .....
Have a Happy Mother's Day!
Pass it along, and remember, it's all (c)opyrighted(c)2011(c)(c)
I think you have another winner!
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