Disclaimer: I’m working with a social eReader program, Copia, which is launching this weekend. As part of the launch they’ve asked me to mention Copia is having a Mother’s Day sale with 50% off all eBooks so you should go out and grab some. What’s better than inexpensive books and a great social eReader?  It’s almost like the fine people of Copia have spoken with my husband. Seriously.

*****

My very first mother’s day spent as an actual mother happened 24 hours after my husband and I walked down the aisle. I was 14? 15? weeks pregnant with my son, trying to wrangle an eight month old who had the worst diaper rash I had ever seen and was completely exhausted from all of the wedding excitement from the day before.

It hadn’t even occurred to me that the day after our wedding was Mother’s day and luckily my mother was very understanding when I handed her a bouquet of hastily purchased, half wilted gas station roses. She was just thrilled to have one less child to worry about. The fact I was now someone else’s problem was the best mother’s day gift I could ever give her.

I hadn’t really expected anything myself, for my inaugural mother’s day as somebody’s mom, after all, my new husband had just spent more than he could afford to throw me a party and our daughter, little genius as she was, wasn’t cognizant of much other than her desire to sleep, fill her diaper and be fed.

But there on the dresser was a small package, wrapped clumsily in tissue paper, with more tape than warranted on the edges and a card addressed to ‘Mom.’

Since I was the only Mom in the room, I figured it was for me and so with my daughter squirming in my arms, I ripped off the tissue and discovered it was a book.

Alice In Wonderland. Inscribed on the first page my husband had written “I can’t wait to watch you take our daughter to Wonderland.”

My husband knew how important reading was to me and how much I wanted to instill that love in my children. There is nothing quite like spending an afternoon, snuggled on the family couch, each of us quietly lost in our imaginations as we plow through our latest selections.

Every Mother’s day that has followed, there has been a book clumsily wrapped in tissue paper, with more tape than warranted on the edges and a card addressed to ‘Mom’ waiting for me to open. It’s the greatest mother’s day present I could ever ask for.

Because sharing my love of reading, of books, of stories with my children and watching their imaginations come alive along the way is the best way I could ever spend Mother’s day with my family. I’m so glad my husband knew that right from the very start.

My husband gave me an anniversary present last night when he came home. Even though we had agreed not to exchange any presents because after 15 years the only thing either of us really needs is enough money to pay for the monstrosity of a garage he started to build and a rubber room to stick the two of us for when we lose our minds while building the darn thing.

However, my husband has never been great at abiding by the rules and thus the giant smile he wore as he handed me a rather large heavy box.

I carefully opened up the card, expecting one of those flowery cards with a horribly sweet poem scrawled in flowing letters that always make me want to laugh and vomit at the same time that my husband seems to prefer buying me and was pleasantly surprised to see a cute image of a bear holding a net with hearts in it.

You’re the catch of a lifetime! Happy Anniversary with love, it read.

Cute. Simple. Non-gag inducing. I approved.

But then, underneath, my husband had carefully written:

“You may be a great wife but I give the best head in this relationship!”

If I had been drinking anything, I’m pretty sure I’d have choked on it.

“Are you serious? For one, are you kidding me and secondly, what if the kids see this? We can’t afford the therapy bills this card will cost us Boo!”

“Just open your present,” he grinned.

So I did.

Apparently crystal is the traditional gift for 15 years of marriage. Crystal Head Vodka totally counts. 

He’s right. He really does give the best head.

15 years of marriage and he finally gets me.

Maybe that two-headed duck I want isn’t such an impossibility after all.

***

Happy Mother’s Day to everyone who is a mother, has a mother or you know, is a mother lover. And if you are looking for some awesomely naughty and completely inappropriate things to probably never buy another human being let along your mother, may I encourage you to go read my latest post over at Hogwash From a Hoser? Because I wrote about some of the most delightfully bad gift ideas ever and ended up wanting at least half of them.

You may not be inspired but hopefully you will be amused. And possibly a little disgusted by humanity.

It’s my mother’s day gift to you all.

Cheers!

15 years ago I stood across from a young man and promised to spend the rest of my life with him.

He was really good looking. He still is.

I was really pregnant and just thrilled to know I wouldn’t be knee deep in babies all by myself. Misery loves company and all that. It still does.

My daughter recently asked me how I knew her dad was the ONE. The man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. My response? I didn’t really know. But what I did know was the idea of spending the rest of my life without him in it beside me was completely unacceptable.

It still is.

I wanted to compose a beautiful essay about how much I love him but it turned out I only really needed a few words.

I love you B. Still, always and likely forever.

And I still can’t ever imagine what my life would look like without you in it, right beside me.

Happy fifteenth B.

With final exams looming right around the corner for my older children, there has been a lot of talk of what the future holds in store for Fric and Frac.

And by ‘talk’ I mean, I’ve done a lot of lecturing, pleading, bargaining and straight up whining to try and get my children to take exam season seriously.

My children? They aren’t worried. They’ve never struggled academically and they are less than worried about the latest go round of academic hoops they’ll have to jump through now.

They’re such good little show ponies.

But as their mom, and their primary parent due to geographic location, it’s my job to take their future seriously. You never know when one bad grade on a test will lead to a downward spiral towards poverty, uselessness and living on my ugly arse couch munching on Cheetos while asking me if I picked up the latest Archie and Jughead comic book for them.

This cannot happen people.

There is only room for one arse dent on my couch and that is mine.

I just want my kids to have the best, shiniest future I can give them and I don’t want them messing up years of my parental dreaming and scheming.  I need my kids to take their studies seriously, do well on their exams, and have as many options available to them as possible when it comes to finally settling into their first adult path after high school graduation.

Hopefully that path will include medical and law school but I’ll just as happily accept engineering and astrophysics.

(Kidding! Kinda! My kids know I’ll support them in whatever they chose to be when they grow up as long as it’s legal and it pays them enough money to not live on my couch. I’m really not all that fussy. JUST GET AN EDUCATION AND A JOB KIDS. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.)

Ahem.

Of course, all of this talk of hope and shiny futures has of course, led to the unearthing of some tarnished pasts. Namely my husband’s and mine.

I must have missed the day they were teaching new parents how to effectively lie to their children in parenting school which kind of sucks because all of those years of being honest and forth coming to my children? Turns out they were actually listening and they remembered everything we ever told them about ourselves. Like where we went to school, how good our grades were and what we wished we had and hadn’t taken in post secondary school.

Dammit.

“But Mom! You don’t even use your training! You wasted your education! You sit at home all day on the computer! Writing essays!” Said like I’ve lost my dang mind. Which, you know, I may have.

“And Mom! Dad was just like us in school and he totally makes more money than you and he doesn’t have to write any essays!” Said like this was a good thing. Which, you know, it may well be.

And then they point out the fact that they have to pass this week’s French exam before worrying about taking any SAT’s or departmental exams and that as long as they don’t get knocked up before they graduate they are pretty much winning at life.

And oh hey Mom, what’s a ribbed condom for?

My children are devious. And mean. I’m so very proud. And a tiny bit scared.

I’m not the type of girl who can’t admit she has a small problem. I know I have a sickness. I may indeed need help.

I bought more glasses.

My husband is ready to divorce me. Only he can’t because he made some sort of vow about loving me in sickness or in health and I’m pretty sure this qualifies even if he disagrees.

I am an eyeglass slut.

(Thanks for pointing that out Neil.)

I have now stopped counting how many pairs of glasses I actually own and have vowed to not purchase any more ever again. Or at least not until my vision changes drastically.

I’m almost starting to feel a little guilty about my addiction. Almost.

I still need a white pair.  And yellow would be neat too.

Ahem.

Anyways, without any further ado, these are my new glasses. And my last glasses. For now. I hope.

(You can click on the pictures to blow them up bigger if you like.)

It’s really hard to take a picture of oneself without making faces. I feel so stupid doing it.

Ya. I feel stupid. But look how pretty my new glasses are! They’re so colourful! They’re stripe-y! Multi-coloured! They even match my ugly chair!!

And look! Redheads can wear pink! Even fake redheads like me! Yay!

Now excuse me, I need to go see someone about this disease I’ve contracted. It’s quite the spectacle.

Heh.