David, my darling husband is a long-standing member of the Husband Hall of Fame but yesterday he went all out for Mother’s Day and deserves a special honorable mention. Honey, you are the real thing!

The morning started with adorable gifts from the boys: a floral collage from Dash and a Jonathan Adler inspired pinch pot from Conrad.

Then David gave me an Internet radio because I’m home alone during the day and I rely on music and talk radio for company. For some reason we don’t get good reception at the house, but now my new Logitech SqueezeBox is like having a bunch of musical and intellectual co-workers with me all day. I love it. I really do. David kept saying an appliance isn’t romantic, but a big black music-making appliance that makes me feel wistful listening to Taylor Swift is swoon-worthy.

Yet I think he might be feeling the need to make up for something or maybe I’m just acting so miserable he’s at a loss as to how to make me happy, because he gave me a series of gifts to make me realize that everything is going to be alright.

He gave me a gift card to go shopping for new spring clothes so I can feel like I’m pretty and pulled together even though I’m just working up in my attic and not an office. And maybe also so I’ll stop asking him to tell me if my butt looks okay in everything I wear. Tickets to the Shins next Sunday so we can feel a little less old. And hold on…a cleaning woman to come every week for a year! We actually had a fairly intense discussion Saturday morning about whether one should really be grossed out if cereal bowls with milk are still on the kitchen table when we practically stumble into the house at 10:30 at night. That Friday, I rushed out for the day to take Conrad to the doctor, got the okay that he could go to school, met with the nurse about how to administer his nebulizer, then caught up with friends to go to the Glenfield House Tour Fundraiser (where you check out some of the larger, extravagantly decorated homes in town, snickering is optional), picked up the kids, went to playdate, then bought beer and drove around trying to find a bakery open at 5pm for a dinner party at a friend’s house. Gave up and then went over to my friend’s with the kids had a lovely night and headed home way past everyone’s bedtime to stare down the cereal bowls, unmade beds and general house mess.

I think the cleaning woman jackpot is way of saying he’s sorry that he after a long day he made me feel like keeping the house tidy is something that’s more in my domain than his. David doesn’t think that. I think he rolled his eyes simply because he was surprised to see that I actually felt comfortable leaving a mess; but he benefits too, by giving me the housekeeper he’s also very generously putting the kibosh on my feeling entitled to complain about housework. I appreciate his strategic mind.

I met my parents and our amazing cousin, Ronny for brunch. Ronny is so inspiring, she wrote her doctorate in resilience in older women and is so great to be around. Then when I came home, we flew kites in Edgemont park that David made with leftover cellophane from Easter egg baskets and went out to Egans with friends. It was really just perfect. Then in the middle of dinner Dashiell started acting really bratty. He came and sat on my lap to calm down. It worked for a while until he projectile vomited all over the dinner table. I hustled him out of the restaurant back door and just as I was leaving and well-dressed child-free couple were walking in, they kindly held the door for me and right then Dash vomited all over my face, neck, hair and chest. Vomit was dripping from eyebrows. But it was fine, really. He got home without getting sick again and we both felt better after we bathed and I thought maybe I will take David up on the cleaning woman.

This entry was posted on Monday, May 11th, 2009 at 10:11 pm and is filed under Husband Hall of Fame Moments, My weekly essay, Random acts of mothering, Zow! This is grosser than gross. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.