"You know there isn't a hospital bar, Mother." - Michael Bluth, Arrested Development

Astute readers will notice that these are pictures of last year's Mother's' Day flowers. Looks like I'm not even trying to make her happy, doesn't it?

So it was Mother’s Day today.

After The Mrs. woke up on two hours sleep, she then repaired a 10x10 section of roof, flossed the dogs, sandblasted the inside of the fireplace, fed The Boy and Pugsley, and then had the guts to ask me to cook dinner because she was “tired.”

The nerve.

In actuality, The Mrs. has been running a fairly continual fever the past few days. I think it might be ebola. I’m not looking forward to the whole bleeding out the eyes things. That’s just creepy.

Okay, in real actuality, she’s probably not got ebola. The Mrs. has been running a 101°F fever (that’s -12°C) and has swollen glands where her gills are. Actually, where her gills would be, if she were a fish. Heck, maybe she’s doing some sort of quasi-devolutionary thing, and turning back into a fish. Or an amphibian.

Maybe her skin will turn green. That would be too cool.

Anyhow, sick with chills and a fever, The Mrs. has actually been pretty worthless this weekend. The exception was this morning, when, in a burst of energy, she cleaned up Casa Wilder in preparation for a visit from Pop Wilder.

Given that it was Mother’s (or is it Mothers’? I think I’ll use Mother’s’ just to be safe.) Day, Pugsley, The Boy and I got The Mrs. the usual stuff, as well as a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Really – what’s Mother’s’ Day without a black rock and roll shirt with the interior cover art from Led Zep IV on it?

Oh, sure, I picked that out, but what irritates me is The Boy. He stole the show today.

Last week he did a Mother’s’ Day card at school. Then The Boy, Pugsley and I went to Target. I set him with the charge to find a Mother’s’ Day card for The Mrs. In true man-fashion, he walked over and picked the first card.

“Did you even look at it? Do you have any idea what sentiment it conveys? Do you even care?”

“No.”

“Good boy.”

I asked him to pick out a card that Pugsley could give to The Mrs. The Boy went over and picked out another copy of the same card that we had in the cart.

“Ummm, that’s too lax even with my low standards. Get another one that isn’t exactly the same as the one you picked.”

So, now we’re up to two cards: one from the school, and one from the store. The Boy gets up early this morning and makes a third.

So, three cards.

Hmmm. This doesn’t make the t-shirt I bought The Mrs. stand out. Well, not stand out in the good way.