One Day at a Time, Nah Nah Nah, One Day at a Time

It's been one of those days-when you find yourself running and driving from one activity to the next, only to come home and realize your house is a complete pig hole. And you son has a tri-fold board and speech due this week and you haven't made his Union soldier outfit yet. And your daughter wants you to draw on her back as you tuck her in but you haven't peed in like, 10 hours, so you tell her no. And your husband is flustered because getting the kids ready for bed and actually in bed takes more energy and time than he thought it would. (Well, duh.) And you have a blog to post, but you haven't even had one moment to think about a subject, let alone be funny about it, oh and by the way self, tomorrow is guest post day. Better be dang hilarious.

I made choices that led to this though. Like choosing to get my hair cut and colored today for four hours. I can't tell you too much about it because I'm planning on using it as a full post in two days, but lets just say that right now I look hot. Well, maybe not hot. Maybe just warm. Perhaps warm is too strong a word right now, actually. I've already showered, am wearing no makeup, and am sitting in my fuzzy blue mom robe, so maybe I just look tepid. But right now I look tepid because I got my hair cut and highlighted today-and the best part? It was half price. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I know how to treat myself right, and today I volunteered to be a "model" not a "client" which means it's the cut and color you desire with a *small*possibilty that he might screw up. The good news here is that he didn't, and now I have had my once annual cut and I don't have to get it done again until next May. Whew. One more thing off my list.

But since it's been that kind of day, and the two glasses of wine I drank this evening are now causing my eyelids to feel beddy, beddy, hebby, (that's very very heavy for those without an accent in your imagination), I'm going to post this lame blog tonight so I can call myself done. It counts. If you have issues with this blog, please take it up with the management.

Oh wait. That would be me too. Looks like you'll have to tune in tomorrow to see what else ends up here. And hope I don't end tomorrow with two more glasses of wine.

Will it or Won't it Grow? That is the Question.

This weekend I finally got some work done in the garden. The weather was beautiful; sunny with a slight breeze. I transplanted all the starters, direct seeded most of the rest. While I love gardening and harvesting the food (of course), gardening requires a great deal of faith, hope, and patience. Growing things back east is surely easier than trying to garden in Phoenix, but you never know if your plants are going to make it, if they'll die after transplant, or if the seeds will refuse to germinate, leaving you with a whole lotta questions. And frustration. One thing I can grow for sure and without question, is weeds. Weeds proliferate in my garden in unmeasurable quantities.

Here are my tomatoes, carrots, and marigolds. I install the cages upside down since I feel like they support the tomatoes better without toppling over as the tomatoes get heavy. I put the carrots in between the tomato plants since I read that they like to grow together, and the tomato plant gives off a scent that deters the carrot fly. I also interspersed marigold in between all the plants since they also act as a natural insect repellent as well as control nematode populations in the soil which can cause carrots to fork. Last year I had very forky carrots.

These are my "prolific cucumbers." I don't think these guys are going to make it. The only seem they seem prolific in, is dying.

These are my pickling cucmbers. These guys are doing really well. Looks like I'm really going to have to learn how to pickle these things.

The raspberries are growing like weeds and are full of blooms.

Little baby pears.

A peek at my leeks. I think these guys are a tad too close together. Have you ever tried to just plant one or two onion seeds? It's a huge pain in the butt.

The herb garden is finally filling in. I wasn't sure the oregano was going to come back, but it did. Chives,

creeping thyme, another kind of thyme I can't remember the name of, and dill are also in there.

Blueberries! Hopefully I'll remember to net them before the birds have their fill.

Basil, basil, basil.

Apricots. Or peaches. I'm not really sure. After fertilizing and trimming the tree, I actually have fruit on it. It will be a battle between me and the worms. We'll see who wins out come August.

Blackberry buds.

So far this year I've already had an entire section of shelling peas die in the ground. Never even break the soil. Wanting shelling peas the way I do, inspired me to plant another entire section of the suckers, even if it's a little late in the season. I still need to transplant the pumpkins and watermelons, and seed the red peppers and Romanesco cauliflower, both of which may not do well either since they are warm weather crops and like the heat. Honestly, I'm always nervous at this point in the planting season. I'll either be reaping mounds of food come July and August, or supporting my local farmer's market.

But like everything else in my life, I'm sowing what I can, hoping for the best, and waiting patiently to see what I end up with. It's not easy, but it's what I'm used to.

Blogathon Bloggers: The Final 60 (ish)

Alright readers! Have you made your way through the first 60 blogs? I'm proud to say I have visited just about all of them. Some I really resonated with, and as promised, I'll be linking those blogs on my site after the blogathon. I'm also trying to figure out how to get the blog to display in three columns, but I'm told that it "took 4 hours and about 10 beers," for another blogger to do it. Maybe I'll have to plan on reworking my layout at the same time I'm review testing my beers. Kill two birds, er, with one beer so to speak. 

Here are the remaining 60 bloggers! Take a few moments to find a few that may be new to you and leave them a message after stopping in! Congratulations to all the bloggers who are posting every day or at least more frequently! It's all down hill from here!

Harry Marks – Curious Rat, Chewing at the tech industry's wires...nom nom nom...
Joanne Mason – English Idioms, What they mean, how we use them, where they came from
Kim McNeill – Kim’s Play Place, An active parent trying to make sure my kids are educated
Teresa Mears – MiamiOntheCheap, Discounts, deals and free events in Miami
Rose Medlock – RFM, Rose Flores Medlock
Heather Minton – Stumbling into Grace, The adventure of following God and figuring it out in Portland
Kathy Murray – Out and Employed, News, career advice and job resources for ex-offenders
Alexis Neely – Life, Business and the Pursuit of Truth, A blog about the intersection
Charles Newbery – Pine Tree Paradise, The life of a work-at-home writer and father of three
Eric Novinson – Costing a Green Future, A green business blog
Tracy O'Connor – I Hate My Message Board, Humor, crankiness, a museum of snack foods and the odd motivational piece
Andrea Parker – Autism Fundraising Guide, For parents of children with autism
Lilac Penafiel – What Have You Learned Today, Life lessons learned everyday...
Tara Phillips – Two Hands and a Road Map
Jennie Phipps – WalletPop, AOL's personal finance blog
Ed Pilolla – Ed Pilolla, What the f*** is love?
Sue Poremba – I Breathe, Therefore I Write
Michelle Rafter, WordCount, Freelancing in the digital age
Kate Reilly – Polka Dot Suitcase, Family fun through creative living
Meredith Resnick – The Writer’s [Inner] Journey, Bestselling authors, professional creatives and emerging voices in quirky dialogue about how they write and why it works

Vanessa Richardson – Way Out West Texas, City girl from California moves to Way Out West Texas, what will happen?
Rebecca Robinson – Rebecca Robinson, Updates on freelance projects, reflections on journalism innovation in Portland and beyond, and brainstorms from the wee hours

Carey Rossi – Thank You Everything, Appreciate the little things
Natasha Rogue – The Writing Blues, Little tips on how I find motivation to get past the difficulties of writing life and the road to publication

Andrea M. Rotondo – Luxury Cruise Bible, Your source for unbiased luxury cruise reviews
Melissa Sais – Digital Mom, Raising kids in a digital world
Lisa Samalonis – Single Parent Savings
Sami – Stonerpreneur, Stoner antics as they relate to my business and personal growth
Dina Santorelli – Making Baby Grand, And I thought giving birth to real babies was hard...
Lacey Savage – Tips and WIPS, Talking about writing fiction
Lilian Schaer – Food and Farming Canada, A blog about the farming side of food
Kristie Sloan – mkBeautyZone, Skin care and makeup information training and products
Matthew Smith – Smidgen PC, Big news about tiny PCs
Michelle Smith - Law Office of Michelle R. Smith, Because it’s your life, your family and your choice
Stephanie Suesan Smith – Stephanie Suesan Smith PhD, Information Central
Claire Splan – Alameda Garden, Gardening issues in the San Francisco Bay Area and beyond
Margarita Tartakovsky – Self-ish, {Sorta} Sage Advice on Being a Better You
Thinkingtoohard – Thinking too hard, This is where I empty my head
Blake Thompson – Black Thompson daht Net, “I'm just saying..."
This is my first year!
Jodi Torpey – Western Gardeners, Your online guide to gardening in the West
Paul Tullis – Grim Tidings- True/Slant, My rants about politics & policy
Jan Udlock - Imperfect Mom
Brandi-Ann Uyemura – Brandi-Ann Uyemura, Rather be freelancing: tips for the beginning writer
Beth VanHoose – Writing in Sand, My adventures in freelance writing, and other stuff
Rachel Vidoni – East Coast Musings, A humorous look at kids, family and life
Jen Walker – My Morning Chocolate, Writing, experiments, culture and adventure in food
Katie Jett Walls – One per Week, 52 posts on things that matter to me
Sarah Webb – Webb of Science, Connecting science and life
Rebecca Weber – Newstilt SAfrica
Susan Weiner – Investment Writing, For investment and wealth managers who want to communicate more effectively with clients and prospects

Rashida Williams – Really Rashida, Urban lit author blogging about my life and times
Jennifer Willis – Jennifer Willis, Thoughts on religion, sustainability, media and culture

The Search for a Better Beer

I’m taking a detour for a moment to explain to my reading public just what exactly entitles me to feature and rate beers over in my sidebar. I’m just a mom after all, and a mediocre one at that, so what qualifications do I have that help my beer research?

Well, none to be exact. No beer-drinking college degree to speak of, no past membership in any sorority where attending frat keggers was part of paying dues, no alcoholic tendencies that started my drinking at the ripe old age of eleven. I’m sorry to say that I’m just your average mother who enjoys a good beer while grilling (or watching the neighborhood children…just kidding guys) and who also likes to share the beer experience with my husband. It’s nice to have him say, “Can I get you a beer?” and actually respond with “Yes” versus, “You know I hate beer. Why don’t you ever offer to pour me a glass of wine?” Plus standing around a bunch of guys with a beer in your hand automatically makes you a cool wife. Who doesn’t want to be a cool wife?

My husband’s beer sampling years started much earlier than mine, which means if it’s called beer, he’s probably tried it. I learned long ago that his beer choices would not be my beer choices. He’ll drink everything from extremely bitter beers to Coors Lite. This required me to venture off  to the liquor store on my own and I’ve been sampling different ones ever since. I found out that I’m a true lover of unfiltered wheats.

But trying to sample and feature different beers everyday has proven to be a tad difficult. First of all, my local packie (package store for those of you residing in the West) does sell single beers, but most of which I’ve tried. I’m scared to commit to a six-pack in case I hate it, plus the stock I’d accumulate buying six at a time just to sample a different one everyday, would make everyone in my house an alcoholic since I’d need to be pouring it on the kid’s Cherrios and feeding it to the plants just to get rid of it all. And that’s definitely a buzz-kill.

The other day I found myself in a town adjacent to mine and needed a few different beers—I figured I’d try my luck at a different packie. You know, spice it up a bit. My three-year- old daughter had fallen asleep in the backseat (of course) and being the multi-tasker that I am, I decided to stop for beer anyway. So I shelp my sleeping daughter over my shoulder, grab my mom purse, and head into the packie at around 1:30 in the afternoon.

I finally spy the cooler along the wall, which is visibly buried behind cases of liquor stacked 8 feet high, and find the one-man-wide corridor that follows the beer case. I make my way to the single beer section hoping to find a treasure trove of beer I have yet to sample.

Well, the good news is that if you’re really thirsty, there are a lot of 22-ounce beer choices. Quite a few from Wachusett Brewery, and many of the 12 ounce beers I’ve tried. Bud Light. Budweiser. Coors Light. Boring.

I can’t decide, and unlike my local packie, some young twenty-something hot guy did not come up to me within 9.7 seconds of my entrance and ask if I needed any help. And this time I was shleping a sweaty sleeping kid. So with one hand I’m holding my daughter to my body, and with the other I’m trying to decide what I should pick, noticing of course that there are no prices on the bottles or posted on those little plastic signs that always fall off the shelving. I’m holding open the cooler door with my mother-butt and grabbing bottles of beer; two 22-ouncers of Wachusett IPA (different varieties), and the only 12-ounce beer I hadn’t tried, a Dogfish Head 120 minute IPA. Apparently it was an IPA kind of afternoon.

Now I’m wrestling three bottles of cold beer with one hand and a wrist while my daughter is STILL sleeping, and trying to avert the gazes of the two people in line ahead of me who are looking at me with a mixture of pity and admonishment since I’m clearly buying 58 ounces of beer for my lunch at 1:00 in the afternoon while I drive around in my mom van. I wish I could have come up with something witty at the time, like “After the beer she had earlier wears off, she’s going to need another..” while nodding at my sleeping daughter, but I refrained. I just needed to get out of there.

The clerk rings up the total and pronounces, “That’ll be $19.38 please.”

Cough. “I’m sorry, what?” I ask, thinking he said $19.38.

“19.38,” he replies again, annoyed with the alcoholic mom and victim daughter.

“How much are the beers?” I ask, now branding myself broke, cheap, and alcoholic.

 “Well, a couple are about 5 or 6 bucks,” he tells me, barely glancing over the receipt. And there are people behind me in line. Fabulous.

I need the beers to review. It’s hot outside, my daughter is sleeping, and I’m annoyed with the register guy, so I pay the man and head outside to inspect the receipt. Besides, at this point I know I’m writing a blog about it, which is at least $19.00 worth of material.

Wachusett 22 California IP 22 oz………………$4.70.

Wachusett 22  Larry 22 oz……………………...$5.45.

Dogfish Head 120 Minute IP 12 oz…………….$7.95.

$7.95? for a 12 ounce beer? Are you telling me I only paid $2.20 more for 44 ounces of beer, than I did for 12 ounces of stuff I’ve never tried?

Let me tell you, if I am going to pay $8 bucks for a bottle of beer, not only had it better be FABULOUS beer, but I expect something to go with it. Like a ball game in stadium seats. And peanuts. Or a comedy show of blue collar proportions. During events like those I’m happy to fork over $8 bucks and a lung for a drink, but at 1:00 in the afternoon on a weekday, I’m feeling a little fleeced. Well, I think, this crap better slide down like maple syrup on a stack of warm pancakes.

I returned home and filled my husband in on the day’s journey while tending the chicken on the grill. I told him what I bought, and he replied, “Why all IPA’s? You don’t like IPA’s. They’re high octane.”

Fabulous. Where the hell was he at 1:00 in the afternoon when I needed advising? Where the hell was anyone? Why didn’t I remember I don’t like IPA’s?

I went upstairs to crack the 12 ouncer, thinking I could blog about it later in the evening, removed the cap and took a looonnnggg swill.

And about threw up. No kidding.

At this point I decided to read the bottle, where is states that not only is this beer good now, but it also gets better as it ages, like, for a year or more. Maybe I should have done a little more bottle reading before purchasing because any beer that can age like wine probably isn’t really even a beer.

I have never, in my life, tasted a beer that left me feeling like I needed to Magic Erase my tongue; that I would have rather sucked the label off glue and all than drink another swallow of that liquid. What’s a mediocre, beer-drinking, fleeced mother to do when she’s holding $8 bucks of crap in her hand? That’s right. Go give it to the husband.

I handed him the bottle as he’s asking, “So, is it good?” I shake my head and tell him to try it. He takes a loonngg swig and also coughs while swallowing. “Wow.” He says. “That’s potent stuff.”

I’ll flash to the end for you. He had one more sip trying to take one for the team since we forked over $8 dollars, but after that it went back into the freezer where it turned into an adult Flavor Ice and I threw it away. The fact that not even my husband would finish it speaks volumes. When it comes to beer he’s like Mikey—he’ll drink anything. Except that.

After the disappointing Dogfish episode, my husband broke open the Wachusett California IPA figuring the only place to go was up. That one was surely better than the first, but that’s a little like saying castor oil tastes better than sludgy motor oil. My husband was right, I didn’t care for the California IPA either—too bitter for me—so my husband selflessly drank that one (he enjoyed it I think) and I grabbed my old standby, Sam’s Summer, which of course I can drink like a soda. We decided to let the Wachusett Larry simmer awhile in the fridge because honestly, I’m not ready to admit an 0 for 3 beer count with a $20 dollar price tag.

If you’re a big fan of Dogfish Head 120 minute IPA, I’d love to hear about why you like it and also how long you’ve smoked. If you work for the Dogfish Head company, I’m not trying to slander you, but clearly do not understand why anyone would brew something that heinous. Maybe you could enlighten me. The unqualified beer critique that I am.

Germs. My Nemesis.

Today's blog is reposted from 2007. Since many of you are new to my blog, I figure it would be a good idea to get you up-to-speed on my neuroses regarding germs. If you're also a germ-a-phobe, grab some sanitizer and join me. It can be an isolating life in my head, but someone's got to do it.

One of the first things I need to explain a bit, in order that you may understand later posts, is my issue with Germs. Not any Germs mind you; not mine, or my kids, not Germs that come from people I know (as in, I'm happy to share a straw with my sisters or pick up that last bite of brownie from the floor using the ol' "five-second-rule,") but specifically Potty Germs, Stranger Germs, and Public Germs.

One of my few successes as a parent stems from the fact that I have taught both my children how to use a public restroom without physically touching any surface at all. Much to the dismay of my husband, who upon returning from a very long bathroom stop with my son, announced to me that the reason it took so long was because our son "was trying to flush the toilet with his foot and wouldn't touch the handle."
"So?" I replied.
"So?" My husband said. "Then he grabbed the door with the sleeve of his sweatshirt."

At this point I'm sure my husband was looking for me to be aghast with horror that our son has some kind of OCD issue at the age of 8, was looking for some type of affirmation that he was correct in being dismayed by this.

"I taught him that," I replied. (Smiling on the inside of course.) At which point my husband shot me that I-can't-believe-you've-dragged-our-kids-into-your-phobic-world-and-this-is-really-not-healthy look, and I shot the Everyone-needs-counseling-anyway look right back at him and the conversation was over.

Maybe this stems from the time I walked in on my 17 month-old daughter sucking on the toilet seat and I actually thought, Would CPS frown on me swishing her mouth out with some 100 proof? If that's not vision enough to put a germ-phobic mom right into needing medication, I don't know what is.

Port-a-potty's are another source of incredible discomfort for me. First, there is no running water and/or soap. Second, if it is one lucky enough to be equipped with hand sanitizer it is usually empty. Third, it smells, there are flies everywhere (the very same flies I might add that land on your picnic-potato-salad) and most people don't respect them and well, waste is everywhere.

How many of you grew up being told to "line the seat with toilet paper?" That was one of my mother's mantras, right after, "Buckle up," and "Are their parents home?" I have happily lined toilet seats for over thirty years and have passed this beautiful tradition on to my children. I don't care how many experts tell me that no communicable diseases can be caught from bum-germs on a toilet seat, I am not going to believe them.

Did you know that over 1/3 of people who use public restrooms DON'T WASH THEIR HANDS? Think about that the next time you grab for that door handle. Or use the port-a-potty.

Which brings me to Stranger Germs/Public Germs. Door handles (again), elevator buttons, escalator hand railings (do you know what they have found on those things?), public indoor play spaces (at the mall, fast food restaurants-anything containing a ball pit-never, never, never let them in a ball pit) cigarette ashtrays and trash cans. There is nothing quite like seeing your child go to throw something away and holding the snap-back-at-you trash can lid open with the palm of their hand. All that black sticky goo, smudges of what can only be described as sickly brown and yellow, not to mention people that haven't washed their hands who have thrown something away...I have tried to show my children how to hold open the lid with a napkin and quickly throw away their trash before the lid snaps back at them sending filth and Germs flying, but let's face it. I'm lucky if the trash lands in the trashcan while they hold it open for longs periods of time with their pudgy palm. Sigh.

Now, having boldly announced to the world (some of ) my phobias, let me tell you that the things my children love most in this world are:

1. Public Restrooms
2. Port-A-Potty's
3. Public Play Spaces
4. Escalators and Trash Cans

In fact, on a recent raspberry-picking trip (happy New England memories here) my children and their friends found the Port-a-potty to be significantly more fascinating than the berry picking. Suddenly the children who never have to go to the bathroom before we leave the house, have to "really, really, go" as soon as we get there and it's discovered there is a hairy-nasty-black-cloud-hanging-over-it, Germ-infested Port-a-potty by the berry bushes. It's suddenly laughter and chasing, and doors opening/shutting/opening/shutting, yelling ("Get out of here, it's my turn!") and general happy kid melee, and then they are running over to announce to me, "Mom, it's all wet in there and now the bottom of my pants are wet..." and I'm trying not to overreact (because what kind of parent overreacts at this type of behavior) all-the-while I'm gagging silently to myself and now the kids are picking raspberries, with their grubby, dirty, filthy, bathroom, Port-a-potty germy hands, and I smile and say,

"Boy won't these berries make a good pie."

In fact, for their next birthday parties, I have decided instead of spending money on inflatable bouncy castles or cheap fast food burgers, I'm going to rent an arsenal of Port-a-potty's and filthy trash cans. Once they are finished playing with these, we'll go the mall and finish up with a romp in the public play space and a few rides on the escalator. I figure this way they will be happy as pigs-in-mud (not a far off analogy) and I'll save a lot of money.

I may need to be medicated first.

There Once Was a Man From Nantucket....

It’s National Limerick Day, the day when people the world over stop, give thanks, and repeat all the dirty nasty limericks they know to their friends. I always thought that dirty limericks were an off-shoot of clean limericks; that this poem type existed as a form before it existed as a way to share crude humor. Turns out that isn’t the case.

In fact, according to Gershon Legman  the true form of limerick is specifically bawdy in nature and “from a folkloric point of view, the form is essentially transgressive; violation of taboo is part of its function.”

There is some question as to where the term Limerick comes from, but it’s rumored to be named after a town in Ireland with the same name. Apparently people would go to the pub, swill a few pints of Guinness and, sing rude, crude, limericks until….. well, the cows came home I suppose.

Poetry On-line even goes so far as to suggest that this type of poem is easy to write, especially by drunkards, and doesn’t take a lot of skill to compose. I know I’m no poet but trying to come up with some original limericks to share with you that were witty, rhyming, and not completely innane proved to really challenge the synapses in my brain. I know occasionally I have posts on here that are a tad risqué and make my husband blanch (like last night after I read him my limericks, he asked, “You’re not going to post those on your blog, are you?”), but generally I try to stay away from sexual words that rhyme with sock, duck, blunt, kick, knit, and Nantucket. Try writing a witty, bawdy limerick without using those rhyming words and it proves quite a chore.

I could have written plenty of clean limericks, but I wanted to stay true to the folkloric integrity of the form. Who am I to change a style that’s been sung in the pubs of Ireland since the fifteenth century? So I composed a few original limericks to share with you today. Have a pint of Guinness, invite some friends over, and recapture a long lost tradition. I’m betting the limericks get funnier as the night goes on and the beer goes in. I suppose everything gets funnier that way.

A husband whose cruel wife would fake,
Ailments so love she wouldn’t have to make,
Wanted to feel like a man,
He smacked her head with a pan,
And said,“Now we BOTH have a headache.”


There once was a man whose libido,
Was so strong he was always in need-o,
His indifferent wife,
Laughed and simply replied,
“Have you seen yourself in a Speedo?”


There once was an ex-nursing mother,
Whose left boob was longer than the other,
When her husband complained,
She politely explained,
“It doesn’t seem to bother your brother.”

Now it’s your turn. Have a favorite limerick that makes you howl? Have you penned an original? Please share it! Even if it’s raunchy, rude, and crude. That’s the point after all. While I’d love for you to leave your name, if you don’t want to fess up to the limerick you can always sign in anonymous. Can’t wait to read some others!

Mother’s Day Revisited

Well, two days later and a little part of me is still mourning the end of May 9th: the one day a year I allow myself to feel no guilt whatsoever for doing whatever I like. Thanks to those of you who left messages or voted on my poll! The results were not surprising, however, they did cement my status in the land of mediocre mothers. Overwhelmingly 9 out of 12 mothers voted that they liked to have a little bit of both-time with their kids as well as time alone. Two moms voted they’d rather spend the whole day with their family, and one poor soul voted that her family didn’t celebrate the day and she was lucky to even get a card. To whomever you are, next year leave me a note, and I’ll send you a bottle of champagne and some orange juice so you can embibe in mimosas all Mother’s Day long. And trust me, I’ve been there once or twice. (Like a couple Christmases ago when my husband got me nothing. Not one thing. He doesn’t remember this of course. Fortunately for him, I do.)

One friend left a comment on Facebook that I thought was a good point. Kristi said: “I would set the vote up for different time periods: the years when I had young 'uns I wanted a day of peace, now that they are in full day school, a day out on the town with the kiddos is awesome. So I vote both ways.”

I agree. I also think that whether moms work or stay at home may influence the vote as well. If your kids are in daycare because you work outside the home, maybe you’d want to see them because you never get to, whereas if you stay at home with the little buggars you’d like some time to yourself. Regardless, no one voted for spending Mother’s Day alone, having 24 hours to do whatever you please. And that’s what I would have voted. Call me horrible—you can surely call me mediocre—but it is a guilty pleasure to feel like I’m just me again, Rachel, and not anyone’s mother. Not that I don’t love my kids, but I can guarantee you that I’ll have many more opportunities to spend time with them than I will to have an entire day to myself. Well, at least for 364 more days.

And as fate would have it, I did get to spend time with the kids. I had a fabulous morning, with the husband making me my traditional breakfast of eggs benedict and coffee. He even went to the local bakery and brought home two large boxes of sweet rolls, whereupon I ate two: one for each butt cheek. I had two later in the day, one for each thigh. Now I’m all evened out.

My kids showered me with love, hugs, kisses, and my daughter made me a trophy the size of a Trojan horse out of cardboard boxes and tin foil (top photo). It came complete with a chocolate heart, coupon book, and a yellow stuffed heart pillow that she sewed herself. My son gave me an item I had been ogling at Starbucks since last year: an insulated plastic tumbler with screw on lid and plastic straw for my iced tea and coffee addiction. I’ve already used it and I love it love it love it. It was $15. Regardless of what people say about me, I really am easy to please.

But Mother Nature was not so kind to me on my special day (hers too if you think about it) because the weather here, while sunny, was about 48 degrees with gusting winds of 25-35 miles an hour. That’s pure cruelty to a woman who’s one day a year to garden for 14 straight hours is upon her, only to venture outside and need her winter jacket, gloves and a scarf. I was frozen. I didn’t have a Mother’s Day plan B. I sat on the couch staring at the window and occasionally staring at the TV. And the longer I sat there, the more the kids were starting to ask me questions. Then there was bickering. The house was a mess and laundry needed to be washed, but I refused to do anything domestic, because dammit, it was MY day. So I called my neighbor across the street and sent up the emergency flag from the window. I had to get out of the house before one of my children actually needed something, so my friend and I went to a couple nurseries and purchased pots, flowers, herbs, and the like, all while cursing the bitter wind. It was an enjoyable time, and when I got home my daughter gave me a fabulous pedicure. I think all moms should have toes like mine; in colors reminiscent of watermelon with little hearts on the big toe.

My husband got take out from a local Italian place and we enjoyed a great dinner, especially since clean up was easy (super easy for me) and then we completed the night with our family ritual of watching “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.” All in all, it was a good day. Even if I didn’t get to plant my starters in the garden.

So next year, would I vote for a little bit of both on Mother’s Day, since this year was such a success? Nope. Next year I’m hoping for nicer weather.