The Secret

This morning I went to “Muffins with Mom” at Gavin’s preschool in honor of mother’s day. Before we left the house I told him how excited I was to be going to school with him and he told me “No! You can’t go to school with me!” Sweet. Love you, too, kiddo.

On the drive to school he told me that he didn’t want to sit me and that I could sit with Ella and he was going to sit with John David. Right. Because John David squeezed your giant head out of his nether regions so of course you should want to sit with him at a mother’s day breakfast.

As it turned out, I was the fetcher of muffins and juice so he wanted to sit with me but he wouldn’t let me eat. He took the muffins off of my plate and put them on his and ate all of them. The Gavinator is not that big of an eater so I imagine the only reason he ate all four mini muffins was so I could not eat the muffins. He also knows I am entirely too vain to make a second trip to the buffet with a hundred other women looking on so he had covered all the bases of “operation starve mom at the muffins for mom breakfast”. Awesome. I can hear the sales from my mom diet book skyrocketing.

However, the craziest thing about the breakfast was not that my son did not want me to go, did not want me to sit next to him, and did not want me to eat. It was as I was trying to get my butt back to work in time for a meeting that Gavin did decide I was worthy of his love and would not let go of my leg that a woman came up to me and told me that she had been dying to meet me and she just knew I must be something special.

Come again?

I thought people spreading tales of my glory in bathroom stalls ended in Morgantown.

What the hell was she talking about? She thinks I’m special because my kid is totally and completely insane and I have made it three and half years without institutionalizing him? She reads my blog? Follows my 365? Thinks I’m special because for someone who is as flat chested as a 12 year old boy I manage to talk about and show off my ta-tas daily? (speaking of the ta-ta’s, they’re fine… thanks for asking)

As it turns out, it was none of the above. She was dying to meet me and assumed I was special because I’m married to a man who… GASP… SHOCK… takes care of his children!!!!!!! She told me she sees the husband drop off the Gavinator and pick him three times a week with the Goose in tow and she just doesn’t understand how with all his testosterone and scrotal tissue he manages to do it when her husband can’t even play catch with her kids and would NEVER do what my husband does. She went on to tell me that I am SO lucky and SO blessed and she is SO happy to finally be able to see the kind of woman who could get a man like that.

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

I leaned in and told her that he cooks, too, and you would have thought I told her that he was making me orgasm at that very moment from one mile away.

I don’t know what is more sad: that she is married to a man that can’t even play catch with his own damn kids or that another female would think it was so earth shattering terrific and amazing that a man is doing what 62 billion other women do EVERY. STINKIN’. DAY. Not only that, women do it with NONE of the crazy accolades that this woman expressed to me. Hell, I do what he does and no one runs up to the husband wanting to meet the man who is married to me! I also hate the insinuation that I must be so flippin’ special for him to that. It was almost like she wanted me to let her in on my secret of how to make man take care of his kids.

You want to know my secret? Don’t procreate with a piece of shit who won’t even play catch with his own kids and uses a Y chromosome as an excuse.

Now granted, I am one hot piece of ass with a magical vagina but he doesn’t take care of his own children for those reasons. He takes care of his children because they are his children. That’s what parents- male and female- are supposed to do.

Don’t get me wrong. I do know I am lucky and I do know I am blessed and my husband is a pretty terrific father and while maybe he can’t always make me orgasm from a mile away, he’s got a pretty good average.