Happy Mother's Day, GWAC

This post comes to you in two parts. The first part, which some might call "scathing," was written between the hours of 2 and 4 a.m. on Sunday morning. Or as I like to call it, the middle of the night. The second part, following the asterisks and with all the cute photos, was written this Mother's Day evening, when I was more aware that my heart was full.

PART 1:

I know there are a lot of husbands out there, like mine, who consider drinking a hobby. He takes his liquor seriously, so much so that he and some other (wannabe) aficionados have formed GWAC - Gentleman's Whiskey Appreciation Club. They meet monthly, have a specific type of whiskey to taste at each meeting, and even take notes on that shit. "Notes of moroccan cinnamon." "I like when it's this smokey." "Tastes of shoe leather and dirt." "Drams of peaty whiskey." Like I said, a hobby. Truth is, I'd easily choose it over other stereotypical male pastimes like sports fanaticism, gaming, or say, Internet porn addiction. But on the eve of Mother's Day, I still hold true that a whiskey festival is in no one's best interest. Not mine. Not the Bean's. And definitely not the hubby's.

Take tonight, for example, when he casually met his GWAC buddies downtown at Whiskey Fest NW, and mentioned he'd be home after the Robert Randolph concert ended before 10 p.m. I enjoyed my solo time - watched a romantic comedy that he would have likely thought dumb, retired to bed early to read my good book for the better part of an hour, and turned off the lights to roll over and fall asleep. I woke up every half hour or so, checking the other side of the bed to ensure my more pickled half had made it home safe and sound. Once my 2 a.m. check-in rolled around, and still no sign of Mr. Whiskey Breath, I became concerned, texted and called him. No response. I got out of bed to check downstairs, just in case he was sleeping elsewhere. And sure enough, he was passed out, sunglasses atop his head as though he were resting his eyes poolside, on the couch fully clothed. While he looked perfectly content, I was fuming. I knew he couldn't pull off going out without over doing it. I knew he wouldn't be home at a decent hour. I knew he would ruin Mother's Day. I knew he'd ruin everything.

So yeah, maybe I'm a touch melodramatic and overly critical. Whatever. I'm pissed. And stewing. And instead of sleeping, I'm blogging my feelings (possibly at the expense of my hubby's?)

But it is Mother's Day, after all, even if only 3 a.m., and rather than be inspired by irritation I'd rather be all twitterpated about motherhood - I will confess that after finding my definitely-not-sober hubby askew on the couch, I snatched my Bean from her crib to join me in bed. There are few things sweeter than sleeping forehead to forehead with my best girl. 

Except maybe when she reaches up and strokes my cheek. Or when she sees that I'm watching her and smiling and she tells me "eyes closed." Or when she gives my arm "massage." Or when she squeezes her fat little fingers, which somehow still smell sweet of strawberries, into my fist to hold my hand while she sleeps.

He may stink right now, but she smells sooooo good.

*****

PART 2

Alex for the win.

When the Bean woke me up in our bed at 7 a.m., I ordered her to go find Alex. I heard her shouting "Daaaaaddddyyyyy!" from the top of the stairs, and then fell back asleep. At 8 a.m., I was awoken to a sweet little chirp of "Happy Mother's Day" and my hubby catering breakfast in bed. Waffles and strawberries and coffee just the way I like it.

Who can wake up on the wrong side of the bed with an alarm like that?!?

And then he scored even more points. He and Francie had set up a little "scavenger hunt" for me, with nearly a whole roll of TP leading me all over the house to different notes. All which are posted here. For posterity. And because I think my husband is the funniest.

And my "scavenger hunt" ended with this GIANT ball of toilet paper that the Bean now considers her favorite toy. She pushed it around in her shopping cart and gives it pat-pats. Seriously.

As if breakfast in bed and an adorable scavenger hunt weren't already enough, Alex also treated me to a 3-hour housecleaning while I gallivanted off with my dad for a movie date, and then relax at hot yoga. And he even gave me permission to buy a new "kit" lens for my DSLR camera that is supposed to take better portraits. As a lover of Mother's Day, my family sure did make me feel extra special.