Cheap Father's Day Dinner, Chardonnay, Emergency Rooms and Bad Mothering

Originally posted June 15, 2014 on FB

Good thing today isn't Mothers Day because I may just be the worst Mother ever. I'd say my chance at Mother-of-the-Year is as dead as the chicken we just shamelessly enjoyed. First, about that...

It's no secret I can't cook. I've tried. I've failed every time. I don't care. Mark Holt loves to cook and that's why we have such an awesome marriage. He doesn't have to eat burned toast and I don't have to starve. So when I told him he shouldn't cook his own Father's Day Dinner and that I would gladly put on those oven mitt thingies he keeps in the kitchen drawer, he shook his head and said two magical words to me. Fried Chicken.

He does not fry but there's a Lindy's a few miles away and I haven't had real fried chicken in years.

The last really good breast I had was when we were guests for dinner at Mistletoe Plantation one night a few months or so before we were married. In fact, that very night, the nice Southern gentleman who owns the plantation offered to call up one of his Judge friends to marry us right there on the spot. I was ready, just as soon as I licked the last bit of deep fried, pure heaven off my ring finger. MH kindly declined our host's offer and I forgave him for it a few years later. After all, he deserved the wedding of his dreams. I guess for me, it was kind of like a rerun and I didn't want to be consumed with planning an actual wedding and all that goes with it.  I just wanted it to be quick and easy.  That, and I really wanted another piece of chicken. Which leads to the chardonnay...

(Speaking of which, I am now enjoying my fourth glass...)

I am a creature of habit. I love wine. I was loving wine every single night of the week for years until a few months ago. I decided to only have it on weekends and asked Mark Holt to pick up some diet Ginger Ale from the grocery store when he bought our weekly groceries. When that Monday rolled around, I poured some into a wine glass and enjoyed it just as much as if it were a glass of Cakebread Chardonnay. Okay, that's an exaggeration because I don't have Cakebread Wine often because it's out of my price range but when I do, good Lord, it rocks my world!  I really should have put that on our wedding registry.  Why did I not think of that? My point is this; I don't need wine. I need routine. I have ADD. I need what I'm used to. And more chicken. Deep fried. I need a schedule and I will stick to it. In fact, on Fridays I still pour myself a glass of Ginger Ale before I realize it's okay to have wine! Yesterday was Saturday and I only had one glass last night. Tonight, I'm going to stop counting. Which leads to the Emergency Room...

My oldest kid called me last night from Illinois, told me his stomach hurt and he was going to the ER. I told him, "NO! The emergency room is for emergencies". Car crashes, heart attacks, strokes, gun shots, a deeply embedded fork in the back of the hand because you reached for the last piece of fried chicken. NOT because your tummy hurts. Geez! Come on Brandon! Suck it up! Take a Tums and lay down. If you feel bad in the morning, go to a walk-in clinic but DO NOT GO TO THE ER! Heath insurance ain't what is used to be and I'd like to build up my HSA for the next couple of years before there's a REAL emergency. Which leads to Bad Mothering. But first...

Hang tight! I'll be right back. I'm just gonna go pour my self another glass of fake Cakebread...

...

Okay, I'm back.  So anyway, kid calls 10 minutes later and says he's going. He's sorry, but he's dying from the pain and going to the ER and you know what? Less than 2 hours later, that hypochondriac was in surgery having his appendix extracted. I guess he showed me!  For once I'm glad my son did not listen to me.  I didn't realize he was suffering.  And you know what he said to me this morning from his hospital bed, 1,000 miles away? He said, "I love you Mom". Which leads me to this...

This day, June 15, 2014 may be Father's Day, but for me, it's also Thanksgiving. I'm thankful for Mark Holt who loves me, even though he has to carry the weight of the kitchen and most everything else. I'm thankful for my sons, who love me even when I'm not the Mother they deserve. I'm thankful because I AM a mother when so many women want this gift but cannot obtain it. I'm thankful for that poor chicken who gave his life for our dinner tonight and I'm thankful for Ginger Ale. Tomorrow when I wake up, I'm NOT going to be thankful for what's in my glass tonight. But that's 8 whole hours away and for once in probably a long, long time, I really do need something a little stronger than Canada Dry. It's still the weekend, right? 

Now, I'm just gonna sneak off to the kitchen and see if there's any leftover chicken...