Mother’s Day for this Queen will always suck donkey balls. The end.
Sigh.
It’s Mother’s Day at Count Waffle’s little preschool and he’s home on the couch with a 103 degree fever. He’s sad because it was “our” day. I’m sad because it was “my” mother’s day and Princess Peanut is THRILLED because she no longer has said fever and is currently jumping off the living room couch and giggling.
Mother’s Day and I have a really shitty track record. There have been no brunches at fancy hotels or macaroni necklaces. There has been ONE champagne morning with a jewelery filled breakfast, but that was a make-up Sunday designed to balance the first year, which we shall never speak of again.
Then there was the last year where I got over zealous in my reminders of the pending day and forever established the “holiday” as a husband free zone.
So to have my ONE event this year taken from me by fever…makes me want to go beat up God. Or Buddha. Or the deity of your choice.
Fuck Mother’s Day. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Tell me how its really some trumped up Halmark holiday and I shouldn’t care. I’m starting a new trend where we hip Moms think Mother’s Day is some anti-woman, oppressive tradition where it makes females less empowered. Or something.
Ok, I’m going to go repeat that all to myself 300 times until I believe it while I go wipe tears.
