Mother’s Day. The day I’ll be instructing the husband to get his arse out of bed and get up at at daft o’clock with the two small ones, as this time it’s MY lie-in.
Yes, you can make me a cup of tea and bring it up to me in bed, thank you very much. I know past form has proven that I’m likely to say a half asleep ‘ooh, thank you!’ and then promptly go back to sleep and leave it to go stone cold at the side of the bed.
That’s my prerogative, though. It’s Mother’s Day, and even if I’m snoring my head off at the cup of tea, I’d still like it brought up just because it’s the thought of it that counts and all that guff, thank you very much.
As for the small people, when I do finally get out of bed at 9am (yes, sadly that is a big lie in to me nowadays) I’ll have a cuddle and open my present/card which they’ve made for me.
No fighting with each other today. You’ve been told. Show your brother some brotherly lurve and play all happily and serenely.
Then, it’s a case of husband cooking Sunday lunch for me, my mum, mother-in-law and the small ones in the late afternoon.
I’ll just Twitter, maybe blog and have a glass of wine while it’s cooking. Well, you’re doing your Keith Floyd impression and having a cheeky lager yourself while doing the dinner, so I’m having a cheeky Chardonnay. Well, if you are…. )
Yup, I’m just going to take it easy, scoff Sunday lunch and (hopefully) be waited on hand and foot.
Suppose I’d better get bribing the kids soon then….