Mother's Day Rant

What a crummy Mother's Day. Excuse the wallowing in self pity for a moment, but this has not been my idea of what Mother's Day should be: no Hallmark picture perfects moments, no sleeping in late, no breakfast in bed.

Firstly, we had company last night and I proceeded to drink probably a whole bottle of white wine by myself. Then, just as I was about to fall into a deep, drunken slumber, my husband picks a fight with me and we argue until like 2:00 in the morning. Meanwhile, neither of us have been sleeping very well since he got back from being out of town because the princess and his pea gets woken at the slightest movement I make - I feel like I have to be mummified in order not to disturb him.

Now I have a huge hangover, am completely exhausted, and can hardly think straight let alone write. I keep on pressing the wrong keys while typing which is really irritating because it's taking me like 25 minutes to write 2 sentences.

OK, so, after no sleep, a hangover, and now in a stinky frame of mind because I'm pissed off at my husband I had to get up early to truck my 5 yr. old out the 'burbs' for a birthday party. My husband can't do it because he has to take my other son to another party. So I haul my tired, sick and angry ass out of bed and hightail it up to strip mall heaven in Rockville, MD. Luckily they had pizza there so I wolfed down some greasy, heavy, fattening junk food to quell my stomach. It was actually quite affective (thankfully for everyone - it was that or puke). The little guy was fairly well behaved at the party, though not perfect (no, that could never happen, even on Mother's Day). Of course he had to go where no kid is supposed to wander, which at The Little Gym seems like a feat in and of itself.

Then I come home and have to take my 10 yr. old son to yet another party (what's with all the non-Mother's Day parties?). So I drop him off at this weird scene (I don't know the family that well). The Dad hosting the party is living in this small, garden level apartment and the place is filled with junk, and photos and papers line every wall, floor to ceiling, and there is a makeshift barber chair in the living room, while 2 or 3 weird men in their fifties are there BBQing some hamburgers. I admit I'm a overly paranoid parent, but this scene gave me the willies.

Meanwhile my husband has been drifting around in a fog, trying to be nice, but I'm too tired and annoyed to appreciate it. Yes, he bought me some nice gifts. But one thing you have to know about me is that I am not very materialistic, and would much prefer an action over a gift (like breakfast in bed). And one thing you have to know about my husband is he is the premier metrosexual. He is the prototype. He loves shopping, nice clothes, nice accoutrements, wears nice smelling cologne, and has the bigger closet. No he's not gay, he just wishes he could be without having to have sex with men. So his nice gifts don't mean that much to me right now, especially after being a complete buzz kill.

There are a few more hours of Mother's Day left, so maybe the day will be salvaged. However, I doubt it. I think the only way this day could end on a good note is to get the kids to bed early, have a bit of the hair of the dog, and hunker down for a rockin' episode of The Sapranos.