“What do you want for Mother’s Day this year? Dad told me to find out without you suspecting anything.”
“A Mercedes Coupe.”
“Dad said you you’d say that and to remind you, without you know suspecting anything of, you have to get the Ford four-door with the big trunk.”
“You know, if you weren’t so insistent on going to college and living a highly educated, successful life, I could possibly swing a used Mercedes Coupe.”
“I’ll buy you one when I win the Nobel Prize for creating the Six Million Dollar Man of prosthetics. Now what do you want for Mother’s Day this year?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Probably not, but I promised Dad I’d find out — without you suspecting anything — in order to avoid the Great Shop Vac Disaster of ’93.”
“Well now that you put it that way, this year I’d like —”
“Wait mom. Dad said to get it in writing — without you suspecting anything — in order to avoid the Birthstone Ring Incident of ’92. And I need the list right away cuz Dad’s in the car waiting. And if it’s something we can get at Best Buy, that’d be a real bonus.”
My son handed me an eraserless pencil in need of sharpening and a Home Depot receipt. “Hey!” I yelled, “Can I use additional sheets of paper?” but he was already plugged in and tuned out.
Dear Family,
Just in case you’re wondering what I want for Mother’s Day, I’ve made this little list.
First, I’d like sole possession of the remote control. Please do not make me suffer through another Sunday of golf tournaments or cooking shows. I want schmaltzy chick flicks and nothing else for 12 hours straight. And I get dibs on the comfy chair.
I want a raise. You heard me. According to the current issue U.S. News and World Report, “Stay-at- home moms, if they were paid, would command salaries of more than $134,000 a year, putting them in the same pay grade as law school professors and pediatricians.” Don’t get me wrong, I love my “job”, but frankly, a girl can only drink cheap Chardonnay for so long before she needs a little treat.
Speaking of treats, while I’m lounging in the comfy chair with sole possession of the remote control, I’d like the silver champagne bucket placed within arm’s reach and my champagne poured into chilled flutes. (They’re in the garage freezer, third shelf down, back right.)
You may serve my caviar on toasted rounds with sides of finely chopped onion and hard boiled egg, capers and sour cream. I prefer my blanket warmed in the dryer before you lovingly drape it over my aching feet. And, when my neighboring Bus Stop Mommies show up on our front step with the new dish towels and pot holders they got for Mother’s Day, you are to kindly escort them to the couch, hand them a glass of champagne and the sharpest pair of scissors we own.
Love,
Mom
Karen Rinehart is a syndicated newspaper columnist, public speaker, and creator of The Bus Stop Mommies™. Her book, Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life, is a popular read in book clubs, school pick up lines, and soccer fields. She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan, and England. You can read more at BusStopMommies.com. Karen lives in North Carolina with her two kids, two dogs, and one husband, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dogs at home.)
