It’s taken six and a half years, but I’m finally at a point where an automated vacuum cleaner actually seems like the best present I could be given for Mothers’ Day. Woops, besides my children. Of course. Yep, they’ve definitely been ever present. For the last six and a half years.
Anyway, I probs won’t get my vacuuming robot because “What’s wrong with the one you’ve got??” So much. So much is wrong. The wrongness starts at the door where EVERYONE drags half the beach in, continues to where the kids have dinner and then on to where people get undressed for a shower and leave another pile of sand… Wrong.
And I’m super happy with a coffee in bed and a homemade card. Just don’t buy me these:
Since I’m still getting over the Easter Fat Fest and my winter fat pants are already starting to show signs of strain, I think chocolate would push me over into needing to do another Body Challenge of some kind. And it’s been clearly established that Mama is NOT HAPPY when she’s on 1200 calories a day. Don’t get me this.
2. Food related appliance used by everyone in the family.
Nothing says “Make me some food Maid!” more than a toaster on Mothers’ Day. Don’t gift me something that’s actually for everyone.
3. Lady Garden Stuff.
“Hey Mother of My Children, do you think it might be time to inflict more pain on yourself?” said idiotic partner. Since giving birth and then hitting yourself in the Lady Bonnet every day since isn’t enough do you mean? Really? I mean. Can’t even.
4. Outrageously impractical clothing.
For all those out there who don’t have kids, wear white, lots. Because once you have them, you can’t wear anything white for like… twenty years. By which stage the only place you’ll be wearing white is on your shoes to Bowls. DO NOT get me this beautiful white fluffy sweater that looks lovely for little dirt machines to snuggle up to.
5. Sleep wear
Almost worse than hankies and dressing gowns… floral sleepwear. Just don’t.
Because I’m not dragged into enough poke-myself-in-the-eye craft projects, why not give me one ALL TO MYSELF. Again, I’d rather poke myself in the eye.
Here’s what I’d actually like:
followed by this:
and ending with this:
Oh all right I suppose these muppets can come along too:
What do you dread receiving on Mothers’ Day?