My first Mother's Day started with an innocent remark about an ant in the kitchen, quickly escalated into whose turn was it to take the garbage out, and ended with the two of us sitting on the curb eating rice and peas in front of Albert's with B asleep in the stroller.
(insert cinematic montage of brunches, handmade magnets and great smelling bath salts)
The past few years my sister and I have gone to the movies on Mother's Day - just the two of us - during broad daylight. We feel this is the height of decadence and we look forward to it all year. Sadly, this year, we couldn't make it work, so I had a few hours unaccounted for.
Or so I thought.
"We have to leave the house at 1pm", my Husband said.
"Sure", I agreed cheerfully, figuring he had planned something special. The movies? Apple Store? Dairy Queen?
We piled into the car. Sunroof open. Jason Mraz. So far, so good.
We start driving when he drops the bombshell "I thought we'd go to Wal-Mart."
"Wal-Mart? Are you serious?"
"Well, you are always saying you have so much to do, so I figured we would all help you out with your errands.
Me, panicking: "But I don't even have my list!!"
Him, earnestly: "Relax. I'm sure we can figure out what we need if you really think about it."
Here we have what I like to think of as a fork in the road. I could have gone left, and picked a fight about how important this day is, how much women like to be pampered and how he could have gotten me a card. Or, I could go right and appreciate the magazine he brought me, the brunch he prepared, and how he planned an outing designed to make my life easier.
I went right.
But wait a second, he just went right too. And Wal-Mart is on the left.
Before I can ask what's going on, we are pulling into a parking lot. It's a day spa.
"Go on in and ask for your massage. It's all taken care of. And we'll be waiting here when you are done."
Thank god I took the garbage out this morning.