Mothers Day Trauma

Tomorrow was going to be the best planned Mothers Day known to man, in fact I was so prepared, in my mind I had already bought the items, wrapped them, and got them ready for the big day. I waved goodbye to my wife for the day whilst my children just waited for her to leave the house then preceded to melt down spectacularly. No problems, I was ‘Mr Prepared’, so I bundled them into the car, well more like shoehorned, and pleaded for them to get in. My son decided he was not getting in but wanted to play on our swing, so did the cat pose thing by splaying his arms and legs to stop himself from being put in. One tickle later and I had the belts done up, and two children accounted for. My front door was unlocked, but hey, I had two children belted in and screaming.

I got as close as possible to the shops in the local car park, in fact any closer, and you could open the car doors from the car to the shop like an isolation tunnel. I got to the pay and display car park machine and realised I was funding the entire council car park fees, as they had gone up. I wouldn’t mind, but I only wanted one spot! I glanced back at the front car windscreen to see two children pressed against and now fogging up the windows, and I realised now was not the time to beat the machine for having extortionate fees. Then the car park machine decided to deal me my last blow, and announce “Sorry, no change.” It’s ok, I’m fine with being fleeced multiple times. Imagine me doing that to the car park company, “Here is your invoice, but to save odd change, I will just round that up to the nearest hundred.”

I carried my son, who by now was ‘Mr Three Breakfast’, and realised I was far too old for this. As I fell through the door wheezing, my son saw the puppets and announced he was buying them to the shop assistant. I then turned around to see the Mothers Day present I was planning to get gone. I did ask for entertainment purposes what happened to be told “Oh, I packed them away.” No chance of someone unpacking them I guess. As we marched round the shop my little girl suggested that Mummy would love a giraffe soft cuddly toy! Are you sure? It’s just that I think Mummy would make me swallow it, and beat me with the wrapping paper.

After panicking and leaving the shop we arrived at the local chemist. Before you wonder what I was thinking, please bear with me. I really did think lovely perfume would go down well, until I heard every ladies voice in my head saying “What you are really saying is that I smell!” I decided to get a voucher, as this would be a valued blessing, especially as my son was busy going up and down the aisles at this point with his sticky mitts, and had pulled out a shower gel. At this point this was the first word other than puppets he had said so I felt this would be ok as he had chosen it. Any blame son, and you are taking it like a man. I later realised he could have pulled anything off the shelf! Shower gel was much better than haemorrhoid cream, so it was a winner.

After arriving at the counter, my next struggle was getting him to let go of the shower gel. “Mummy, Mummy!” “No son, let go, the lady needs to scan it to pay for it.” “Mummy” “Son, let go!” As the queue got longer, I started to peel his fingers one by one in order to hand it to the lady. As she saw the panic in his eyes, she scanned and quickly gave it back.

By the time we got back to the car, I was a broken man, defeated, and felt I had come back with gifts not half as good as the ones I had intended, but at least my wife did not have haemorrhoid cream for Mothers Day, so to that end, she should be grateful! Trouble is Fathers Day is not too far away, and thanks to Mister Sticky Mitts, I am properly scared!