Tie the Bow on Another Successful Hallmark Holiday
Prior to Mother’s Day, I wrote that that men who ignore the holiday do so at their own peril. Though it is a Hallmark holiday, it is nonetheless one that mothers greatly enjoy. If you are but a son, then you can apply a modicum of effort and come out ahead. If you are a father, then it requires more than a modicum. If you are successful in your relationship, it only requires a tad more than a modicum.
I approached it as a weekend rather than a day. Penelope wanted to do a fun run for charity on the Friday before and asked if I’d come hang out while she took the girls on this run. Rather than agree to this plan, I said I’d rather join them for the run itself. As a recent convert to barefoot running (and as a result, running itself), I actually wanted to join Penelope and the girls. Though predicated on selfishness, this decision set the tone for the rest of the weekend. I was running backwards, for reasons that aren’t germane to Mother’s Day, and tweaked a ligament in my knee. Though hobbled for the rest of the weekend and unable to engage in the other outdoor activities we normally go for on weekends, I was golden. I was hobbled as a result of family time, not as a result of drunken bear wrestling or neighborhood pillaging.
Family time continued Saturday morning with a trip to the farmer’s market for fresh food and outdoor activity that my knee could handle. Bought mint, cilantro, grass-fed beef, strawberries, spinach, and lettuce, all locally grown and correspondingly fresh. A French couple recently moved to my area and opened a crepe stand, so we ate fresh crepes.
Talked to the man at the crepe stand. His wife and son are redheads, as is my elder daughter. Not yet being versed in American humor, he related a story to me. He was at the gym with his son and another father there said, “Where’s your son’s red hair come from, the mail man?” The Frenchman told me, “What? Who is ‘the mailman?’” I laughed, but did not explain the humor behind it. Related this to Penelope so she could share my bemusement. Headed home for nap time and I took off to run some errands. Came home and made burgers with some of the grass-fed beef.
Saturday was over and the holiday was nigh. I was prepared for Sunday with a risky form of LTR game that is not for the faint of heart. Men in LTRs should only engage in the following if they are firmly ensconced as man of the house and sure that the wife does not have a lawyer on retainer. Though it worked wonderfully for me, I actually don’t recommend it, lest you provoke your woman to retain a lawyer.
Though I explicitly stated that men should buy some flowers or a gift, I did not. Nor did I make reservations for a delightful brunch. I bought two cards and nothing else. One from the kids, one from me. The card from the kids was boilerplate, but true. The card from me was as well, though I did write a note suggesting that Penelope order this necklace she’s had her eye on. I never said I didn’t love her, I just don’t do Hallmark the way Hallmark wants me to.
I delivered these cards after sleeping in while Penelope got up with the kids. Yep, I slept in on Mother’s day. Again, don’t go this route if you are not firmly on top of your game. Penelope was honestly happy with the cards and the chance to order the necklace, which I will add is not adorned with jewels of any kind and not made of an expensive metal. Found a restaurant that didn’t have a waiting list, or even a special Mother’s Day brunch, and ate breakfast there because we were out of several ingredients needed for a full breakfast. Ran a few errands after breakfast and went home. I mowed the yard.
Normally, mowing the yard isn’t a huge deal at my house as I enjoy it. On Mother’s Day it was horrible as my yard is hilly and my knee was not happy with the hills. My knee really wanted me to sit down with an ice pack and a mild pain killer. Something no stronger than heroin. Alas, my grass is sentient and evil and loves to grow to redneck levels during the week if I don’t knock it back down to size every weekend, so I continued on. After the hobble-mow, we went and bought plants and flowers for a little landscaped area in the front. Got home and I made a martini and lazily prepped dinner while Penelope planted the new decorations.
To recap: I slept in and got up to deliver no actual present. I did not make reservations for brunch, the Holy Grail of girly meals. We ran errands as a family, which though done together wasn’t exactly happy fun party time, I mowed the yard, and we went and bought plants which had to be planted. While Penelope planted said plants, I headed to the air conditioning and a martini. Idiotic, right?
Not even close. This was not only acceptable, it was also tingle-inducing. I could’ve rested on my laurels after injuring my knee during the run. I could’ve extolled the joys of a family trip to the farmer’s market. I could’ve sat down after I limped around the yard behind the mower. I could’ve stopped with the trip to buy shrubbery. But instead of stopping, I kicked it up a notch. I took the mint, cilantro, and strawberries purchased at the farmer’s market, added some Vidalia onion, a few dashes of habaño sauce, a little sugar, balsamic vinegar, olive oil, fresh squeezed orange juice, and raw clover honey and made a salsa. I then combined some cumin, paprika, ground garlic, ground chipotle pepper, salt, pepper, and a few dashes of Old Bay to make a rub. I rubbed the rub on some mahi-mahi filets and pan seared them. I wilted the farmer’s market spinach in olive oil and garlic and finished it with some fresh cracked pepper and red wine vinegar. I topped the fish with the salsa and served it and the spinach with some rice. And with that there was a gourmet meal made gourmet by the ingredients procured during the family trip to the farmer’s market.
That is the benefit of masterful LTR game. And being a fucking awesome cook. Your woman does not long for what you can buy, but for you. She does not care if you sleep in or tap out for the normal weekend activities because of a strained knee. She doesn’t care if you fail to turn a Hallmark holiday into a big showy production. You can do what you want to do – in my case run, buy fresh food, eat crepes, sleep in, not cook breakfast but cook a dinner that I wanted based on the recently scored fresh ingredients – and come out looking like a million bucks.
And even though it was “her” day, she still cleaned the kitchen when all was said and done. That’s love.
The problem with America in a nutshell.
We celebrate Mother’s Day in the UK, but it’s for your own mother. Not your wife, or girlfriend, or girlfriend’s mother.
(though the dad still typically pays for a meal out, but it is on the kid’s behalf)
[To be fair, our oldest kid is 2.5 and doesn't know how to write, so she's limited in her ability to do anything herself. The 6 month old definitely cannot do anything.
Still, you're cold, Hughman. Next you'll be saying that government shouldn't lock up dads who don't acknowledge their baby mommas on Mother's day.]
Your woman does not long for what you can buy, but for you.
You speak the truth. My husband has been home this year for all holidays and birthdays, which has been worth more than any gift.
Your salsa sounds yummy. Having been without my full array of kitchen gadgets for quite awhile now, I have kitchen envy.
[You just have to get creative with the coffee pot burner and the microwave in the hotel room. And apparently some of your fellow guests are starting lots of fires. Figure out who and you can grill or at least make some s'mores.]
My husband does not give me anything for Mother’s Day. He hasn’t for quite a few years now. When he first declared, “It makes no sense for me to buy you a Mother’s Day gift because you are not my mother and I hate doing things that don’t make sense”, I was shocked, and thought he was kidding. That first Mother’s Day I was fairly pissed.
After I had time to think about it, however, he was right. It doesn’t make sense. And he is not my father, so I don’t buy him anything either. And I mean anything. We don’t even exchange cards. in fact when my sister gave me a Mother’s Day card yesterday after church, he shook his head in disbelief.
I do not cook on Mother’s Day. Of course, we have 3 teenaged daughters so it’s no big deal anyway. They want to cook for me on Mother’s Day and he bankrolls whtever gift they want to give me. And they do the dishes every night. It’s amazing how much more manageable the housework becomes when children are old enough to contribute to the effort.
All that to say, wives who insist that their husbands celebrate them on Mother’s Day (and I used to be one of those women), simply reinforce the case that we women are irrational.
You magnificent bastard. And you cook. Well.
If anybody needs me, I’ll be comparing my life to yours and then killing myself.
[Although I may be back to paraphrase Bender, if need be.]
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[Thank you for the kind words, spammer. And yes, please do have the children check up here often b/c if there's one thing that Hidden Leaves is all about, it's educating the children.]