I'm proud to have raised three wonderful and respectful children, ones who will always do the right thing. And that is why I'm alone on Mother's Day, because the children have chosen to celebrate "Other" Mother's Day with their in-laws.
I never make a fuss about this. It is the right thing to do when the Other Mother is a Single Mother who doesn't have a wonderful husband to cook her a fancy feast. Or take her out to dinner.
I've been in that snack bracket, before, thank you very much, and I would have been devastated if my kids left me alone on Mother's Day when I was a single parent. So I'm paying it forward, so to speak. Besides, it means we don't have to make them dinner, so that's something, right?
We celebrated Mother's Day last Sunday, and also this past Friday night when Stef came over with beer and I made him watch Billy Jack and the Last King of Scotland. Stef doesn't have an Other Mother yet but he had to work today at Kelsey's where he can make a house payment serving nice families on such a glorious day as this.
Last weekend, Nick and Shyla were here, as well as Marissa and Jeff and it was nice. Scott cooked us a kickass dinner, and we sat around discussing their future plans which involved Cuba and babies. This made me slightly uncomfortable, given the state of their (mostly Nick's) financial state but, as I said in my last blog posting, it's none of my business. (Though I did leave a gigantic box of condoms on his bed the next night, so he might have a clue that he should wait for a few more foaling seasons and maybe get a cat instead.
It's been a weird Mother's Day weekend. It started with our landlord and his property manager coming to the door on Friday night at 10 o'clock. Stef answered the door, thinking Nick had ordered pizza and the landlord asked to speak to his parents, like he was 11, not 25.
"Mum," he said. "There are a couple of coke heads at the door."
Puddy came to offer to build us a satellite station as an apology for being an asshole the week before and forcing us to cancel our new satellite service because Puddy didn't want anyone in his wiring room. It would have been nice to tell us before the Bell guy showed up, but fortunately Bell was nice enough. They get asshole landlords a lot, according to the client service person.
Scott had to spend a half hour talking to the landlord with his newly minted grease black painted hair and nylon see-through shirt while Hellion, the property manager, oogled our family photos. Clearly, the new puppy wanted to make an impression, so Finnigan began slamming his body against the closed door a few times, startling Puddy whose paranoia was growing by the minute.
That was fine by me, as Puddy deserved some payback for being such a dickhead. It's probably why his last tenants drew a gigantic cock-and-balls on the wall which we can still see when the light hits the wall just right. I shit you not.
It seemed like an eternity, but Scott managed to finally send the Coke Twins off to the Roxbury, but not before they spent another half hour trying to find their keys which they apparently had lost between our front door and our back door. What a pair of lameos.
Anyway, we had a pretty good evening Friday, and last night Scott watched the bitchin' hockey game and I did dishes, which I never do, but then again I hate hockey. We finally curled up in bed with Gordie and Finnigan only to be awakened an hour later by Finn whimpering.
Scott took him outside and he let out a shitstorm of puppy poo. He must have gotten into the garbage, although my Roc lip balm has gone missing. As a result, Scott had to take him out 10 times last night and he still managed to shit on the carpet.
So today, on Other Mother's Day, we spent most of the day sleeping and trying to cover up the sweet scent of delicious doggie diarrhea. I couldn't get mad at him. It was probably Finn's way to punish Puddy for ruining Friday night.
I'm finally feeling refreshed, and almost human.
Also, I'm glad not to be entertaining.
Thanks, Other Mothers!