I have had a few memorable Mother's Days over the years. There was the year it wasn't even acknowledged (I gave my family the silent treatment for three days until I realized they either didn't notice or were enjoying the silence entirely too much) and then there was the year I had to make dinner because the boys and their father were watching the NBA play offs and totally forgot (yeah right) that they were in charge of the meal making. There are two particular years however that stand out in my memory and that I deem blog worthy. The first occurred when Matthew was about fourteen. Steaks had been purchased to celebrate the day and I had resigned myself to the fact that I would be grilling them because Ian refused to go near the barbecue (he'll barbecue now if I light it first). To my surprise, Matthew announced that he was going to do the grilling and I was to just sit and relax. What a sweetheart. I was feeling a little trepidatious though as Matthew had never really used the barbecue unsupervised before.
"When you light the barbecue you have to be sure..."
"Mom, I know how to light it."
"You need to make sure though..."
"Mom, I know what to do."
"But I just want to make sure that you..."
"Mom trust me, I know what I am doing."
"I know but the igniter isn't..."
"Mom, I know what I'm doing!"
Out the door he went with Nathan following right behind him.
Two minutes later the door flew open and Nathan ran in, breathless.
"Mom!" he yelled "You should see Matthew."
I jumped from my chair and ran to the door and almost ran into Matthew coming back inside, hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes singed.
When I regained control of my laughter, I cooked the steaks. I laughed for days afterwards until his eyebrows and eyelashes grew back in. I know you're probably judging me right about now after all what kind of mother laughs at her son almost having his face blown off? The same kind of mother that... oh wait, that's tomorrow's post.
One night Monk (in an attempt to delay going to bed) came to me and holding his finger aloft announced that he could not go to bed because something was wrong with his finger. He then proceeded to ask me if I could see what was wrong with his finger - I responded "It's not in bed."
ReplyDeleteAnd that is the kind of Mother I am.
I'm also the type of Mother that when this very same son announces he can juggle with ONE ball and asks "Mum, can you juggle with ONE ball?"
Tells him without an ounce of sugar-coating, "That's NOT juggling son. That's just throwing and catching a ball. When you use ONE ball - it's not juggling."