This morning over breakfast, Monkey told Otto, “Today’s our field trip to the middle school!”
Otto clucked appreciatively, asked him if he was excited (he was), then said, “And do you know what one week from tomorrow is?” Monkey scrunched up his face, deep in thought, and I tried to figure out what Otto had in mind. There’s a field trip today; there’s a field trip next week (though not a week from tomorrow). Hmmm.
“He doesn’t know, honey. What is it?” Otto turned to me, incredulous. He waited. I thought about it some more. My hands flew up to my mouth, involuntarily. “NEVERMIND!” I yelped. “I KNEW! I KNOW! I didn’t forget! I… I…” Otto was glaring at me. “I love you? Yes. I love you. Monkey, a week from tomorrow is our anniversary WHICH I DID NOT FORGET.” Otto shook his head and returned to his cereal.
Poor guy. He’s all secretly sentimental and stuff, and then he goes and marries ME. (Can’t I just say that it feels like we’ve been married forever and that gets me off the hook for actual date-dependent celebrations? No…?)
I share this as preface to the notion that I’m not one of those “shower me with love and expensive gifts” sorts of people when it comes to Mother’s Day. On the other hand, today I’m over at Off Our Chests talking about what even a confirmed un-sentimentalist like myself can tell you is a really bad Mother’s Day gift. Come on over; you know you love it when I go all Judgy McJudgerson.