“What gift do you want for Mother’s Day, honey?”
What do I want?
You really want to know?
Okay well first, I don’t want you to run out the night before to get me gifts. I don’t need physical things.
No need to buy me yet another card that I’ll feel guilty throwing away after 5 years of moving it from place to place.
Please, don’t even try to get me anything kitchen related. I don’t need the reminder of my hatred for cooking or another dish that we both know I’ll be the only one to wash.
Mother’s Day is not a time to get me sex dice or lingerie, and then play it off as “joking” when I don’t react favorably by jumping your bones right then and there.
I love our kids, and this will probably make me sound like a bad mom, but please don’t spend $45 on a pot, soil, paints and seeds so they can make a mess creating a “unique” gift for me that will probably break in a month. I have enough of their adorable crap around the house, just from day-to-day activities we do. Add that $45 back into our grocery budget so I’m not stressing next week.
So if I don’t want gifts, what’s a man to do? On this day, a day just for mothers, I’ll tell you what I want:
I’ve worked 364 days straight, so on this day I want to relax.
I want to actually sleep in. The type of sleep in where I wake up naturally because my body just happens to be rested enough. Not the interrupted “sleep in” where our toddler escapes your clutches and bangs on the door every time I manage to drift back to sleep. I want to sleep like no one is home and like I’m 17 again, waking up with no idea what hour of the day it is.
I want you to read my mind and know you should think to wash the dishes yourself before I have to ask. Or to notice my new haircut without my hinting. No dagger eyes today!
I want to eat all my meals on this special day while it is still at least lukewarm. And I don’t want to be responsible for spoon-feeding any of our children. Or the clean up.
OH, and if you could somehow figure out how to make calories mean nothing for this day, that’d be great, too.
On Mother’s Day, I want the only reason that our kids (or you) come frantically running up to me is to tell me how much I’m adored. Not to tell me that the baby pulled off his poopy diaper and flung it around like a lasso. That’s on you today.
I don’t want one of your “massages” when I settle down to finish my book. Those hands drift like a ship on a mission, straight to my privates. I’ll tell you right now—99% chance THAT will not be the right moment.
I want to go to bed and binge watch MY shows without having to pause every few seconds to listen to your comments about the newest Xbox game I don’t presently care to feign interest for. You need to see that McDreamy and I will be in the middle of a dramatic surgery at Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital and I cannot stop that train now!
When the kids are in bed, I don’t want you to tell me it’s time for my “real gift.”
*wink wink* *thrust thrust*
I’ve seen that thing already. A lot. I know all your moves. It’s not a special gift. That’s an expectation you’ll give me any moment that I ask for it. How about this Mother’s Day, you get me a “real gift” of nachos in bed while I’m binging on my Grey’s Anatomy?
These are the things I’d rather have for Mother’s Day this year than any physical or materialistic gift. Do these for me and I promise you’ll get it returned 110% for Father’s Day. At which time, I’ll pull out my boobs in a brand new piece of lingerie and tell you it’s time for YOUR “real gift.”
*wink wink* *shimmy shimmy*