I always look forward to Mother's Day because it's the day I receive homemade (schoolmade?-since they are made at school and not home...discuss) gifts from my kids. I've received Betty Rubble inspired necklaces with painted clay baubles, handprints pressed in clay or painted on a ceramic tile, and magnets proudly displaying my children in various stages of missing teeth. I love the sweet mommy cards and poems that accompany such gifts with their "festive" decorating.
They are not only proud of their gifts but also because they kept their them a secret for so long. We hug and kiss until someone gets poked in the eye or gets squished. The peace of Mother's Day is short-lived but I will take what I can get.
Sunday was a bit nutso because my nine-year-old was playing in a baseball tournament (Does this indicate that baseball coaches hate their mothers? Wives? Discuss.) The game was an hour away so he and his Dad headed out early. My other two kids and I were going to meet them out at the ballpark closer to game time (i.e., I was not getting my ass up early on Mother's Day.)
My youngest ran downstairs and got his tissue-wrapped present. With a his cute baby teeth grin, he handed it to me and we snuggled up in bed. I couldn't wait to unwrap my "heart-swelling" gift. It was a sweet little two page book bound by a hole puncher and dainty ribbons. Who says getting published is hard?
Now the SECOND page was what I truly loved...yet made me cringe. It is titled ALL ABOUT MOM. It is a fill in the blank page about me. My age, my eye color, and my height and weight were the first items. Teachers across the nation do these things to make mothers laugh because, really, what is the point? I know how old I am. My eye color is the same nondescript brown it has been all of my life. Height and weight can go fly a kite. A kid's point of view is hilarious yet disturbing at the same time.
I have provided a photo for illustration.
A few things I would like to point out:
1. Unfortunately, he is right about my age. But I did prefer his first answer; I guess my tornado-infused 40th birthday made him well aware of what number I was and one that we won't likely forget.
2. I have brown eyes. Either he doesn't know his colors-alarming!, or we need to work on making eye contact skills. For the record, he has brown eyes. WTH? It was the only damn trait I gave him.
3. I am not 8 feet tall. Nor am I 61 pounds. And apparently, he thinks I'm an alien. (See picture above.)
4. My favorite food is not salad and chicken. It is just what mommy eats. How does he think I maintain my svelte 8 foot, 61 pound frame? (My favorite food is really popcorn. Oh, and key lime anything. But wait, I love chips and guacamole...and then there is Thai food , and...)
5. Dolls were not in my repertoire for very long. Once I discovered roller-skating and my bike, Barbie sank into a deep depression and didn't bother to change her clothes for years.
Okay, now here is where it gets good. The next sentence reads: I think my mom is funny when she ( his answer): says we will have ??? on a stick for dinner. The "on a stick for dinner" has been written by his teacher and his original answer has been erased. I did two things when I read this. Laughed very hard. Then stopped abruptly, wondering how long I had until Social Services showed up.
What he really wrote was: says we will have poop on a stick for dinner. Um. What he meant to say was...um, okay, he did not make that horrifying statement up. I really have said that. This colorful and yet profoundly disgusting phrase originated not with me but with my father. Actually, the original phrase is "shit on a shingle" but gave it my own warp. "Shit on a shingle" is the term used to describe a dish comprised of chipped beef (rehydrated slivers of dried beef) served in a cream sauce over toast.
I know, this is disturbing on so many levels but it is what the servicemen in WWII called this "favorite" meal of theirs. My father served in Vietnam so I am not sure if the military continued this appetizing phrase throughout the years or if my dad just picked it up from talking to older war vets. Regardless, the fact that he occasionally made this meal at home (his looked a bit more appetizing than this, but barely) when I was a kid still bothers me.
So now, as I have my own children to torture with various recipes, I have never served them "poop on a shingle." However, I use this phrase quite often as my response whenever my kids ask me "What's for dinner?" especially when they asked light years in advance of the meal in question. "Poop on a shingle, on a stick, etc." usually makes them laugh hard enough that they forget what they asked in the first place. Best rule in the laws of motherhood-use distraction when necessary. It has become an inside joke for us. But that is no longer.
Now I must somehow explain my son's Mother's Day gift to his teacher when I see her next.
And that his words are actually my words. (Mother of the Year, right here!)
And they are part of our family history. (We were whack-o from way back.)
And that we really don't serve poop on a stick at our house. (Heh, heh...eh.)
What has been your favorite Mother's Day gift from your kids?
Any embarrassing stories you'd like to share? Please?!
Hope you had a happy non-Social Services visiting Mother's Day of your own!
*originally posted at halliesawyer.com/blog*
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