Wilder by Far

A look at life with the Wilder family. Updated most weekends and some vacation days. You can contact me at movingnorth@gmail.com..

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Location: United States

Sunday, May 11, 2008

"Nine hundred years of time and space, and I've never been slapped by someone's mother." - The Doctor, Doctor Who


The Boy and Pugsley paw through Pugsley’s birthday presents. No actual newspapers were harmed in the filming of this birthday.

I’m a slug. A horrible, horrible bad slug.

Let me explain.

It’s Mother’s Day (or is that Mothers’ Day? I’m thinking it’s Mother’s Day unless you can have multiple mothers.) and I woke up this morning at 11:00 (AM) or so. I looked and worried that there was coffee I could make, or perhaps bacon and sausage and eggs I could make. Instead The Mrs. walked in, gave me the standard WWE® tag-off hand slap and said, “You’re on.”

Me? I’d fallen asleep the previous night while The Boy watched Indiana Jones™ and the Temple of Doom®. I walked into the room when Indiana Jones™ was on his Last Crusade©. I read a book on probability and statistics (well, not so much, really a book on how we fool ourselves through probability and statistics, but that’s another story) while Indiana® and Dr. Henry Jones© deal with amazingly stupid Nazis© to find the Holy Grail®.

It was Mother’s Day, so I let Pugsley pick the next movie, which involved a mouse that’s either unable to talk, or, like Pugsley, faking the inability to talk. Never trust the ones that don’t talk.

During this The Boy said, “Mom picked Indiana Jones©, and Pugsley picked Maisey®, so I should be able to pick the next movie.”

He said this like it’s normal for a thirysomething mom to want to watch an Indiana Jones® movie first thing on Sunday morning, and that he was horrified and tortured to have to watch the whole thing.

I gave him my best “father knows you’re an idiot” stare, but allowed him to pick a Garfield™ movie anyway. I nosed back into my book on probability (and how we’re all idiots).

Eventually Pugsley headed down for a nap (during Garfield®) and The Boy continued to cackle like a grinning goofball at the antics of the lasagna-loving feline.

The Mrs. opened her cards from Pugsley, The Boy, Alia S. and me. She got the stuff she’d picked out yesterday.

Not a lot of excitement here at Casa Wilder after that.

We mulched some trees. I edged the lawn and drank some beer.

So, to all Mothers everywhere, happy Mother’s Day.

Let your husbands sleep in. They like that.
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Blogger Dame Koldfoot said...

HA! I got my kids to take me out to lunch (they don't know I paid for Denny's with money from their piggy banks) and to clean my house for me. They kind of crapped out when I asked them to rake the yard. Oh, the joy of guilt trips on Mother's Day.

9:57 AM  
Blogger John said...

dame koldfoot,
Was that the "Farthest North" Denny's that The Mrs. had two Mother's Day "Moons Over My Hammy's" at?

The one where they experimented with "nobody at the freaking cash register" for a year?

Nag. Worked for my Mom. "Good for the soul."

9:10 PM  

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