A Perfect Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day; Sunday, May 8, 2011, 10:23 a.m.
I wake up. My alarm didn’t go off and my daughter didn’t yell in my ear to wake me up. No, for once, I wake up when my body is ready to wake up. I feel more rested than I’ve felt in ten years, before I was pregnant for the first time. And then I notice all sorts of weird, wonderful things: my neck doesn’t ache; my arms are as toned as Michelle Obama’s; the stretch marks on my stomach have disappeared; my thighs have shrunk and all traces of cellulite are gone; my boobs have lifted and grown a full cup size; my hair and skin are radiant; my teeth are whiter; my legs are silky smooth. Where’d my wrinkles go? It’s a Mother’s Day miracle!

10:29 a.m.
Someone knocks on my bedroom door. That’s odd. Normally, the kids just barge in and dump their toys all over my bed.

“Come in,” I say.

My son and daughter rush in, beaming. They don’t dump toys on my bed. “Happy Mother’s Day!” They’re already dressed–in clothes that actually match!–and when they hug me, they smell clean.

“You gave them baths?” I ask my husband, who’s just carried in a tray of food–waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, freshly squeezed orange juice, a veggie-and-cheese omelette, and hash browns. There’s also a vase filled with pink roses, a love poem from my husband, and handmade Mother’s Day cards from my kids.

“Yeah, I scrubbed behind their ears and everything,” my husband says, setting my breakfast down, kissing my cheek and handing me a fork. “Happy Mother’s Day, darling.” He’s never called me “darling” before. “I need to go finish up the laundry and mop the kitchen floor really quick. Oh, and scrub the toilets and shower and stove. Be right back. Kids, now is a good time to put on that show you’ve been practicing.”

My son plays “Ode to Joy” on his recorder and my daughter dances gracefully. Then they tell me knock-knock jokes while I eat my breakfast in bed. When I run out of waffles, my husband brings me more. He also massages my shoulders and tells me I’ve never been more gorgeous than I am right now. “I just vacuumed your car and cleaned all the fingerprints off the windows. Hope you don’t mind,” he whispers, fastening a new diamond pendant around my neck.

11:18 a.m.
I step into a hot bubble bath that smells like lilac blossoms. A box of chocolates is waiting for me next to the sparkling-clean tub. No one pounds on the door. I wonder if everyone else has left, but then I hear the kids talking quietly in the kitchen. “We’re so lucky. Mommy is the best mommy in the world. Let’s go clean our rooms and surprise her!”

11:51 a.m.
I’ve just gotten dressed when my husband hands me a $250 Kohl’s gift card and 30% off coupon. “You’re not allowed to buy anything for me or the kids,” he says. “Go shop, my darling. Stay out as long as you want. I’m going to balance the checkbook and make a cheesecake for you. The kids are still cleaning their rooms. I’ll make sure they eat fruits and vegetables with their lunch.”

3:40 p.m.
I drag two huge Kohl’s bags back to my bedroom. My kids show me their immaculate rooms. “Mommy, I got all my army guys out of the grass in the back yard and cleaned the gum off the couch cushions! I also wiped my pee off the toilet seat!” my son exclaims. “We threw away all our string cheese and fruit snacks wrappers!” my daughter adds.

“You guys are awesome!” I say.

“Not as awesome as you, Mommy,” they reply sweetly.

My husband is putting away clean clothes. “I hope you bought a new swimsuit,” he says, eyeing the Kohl’s bags.

“Yeah, but why does it matter?”

“Tonight the kids are going over to Nana and Papa’s, and you and I are flying to Hawaii for a week.”

“WHAT?!”

“Didn’t I tell you?” My husband grins. He looks ten years younger. “On our way back from Hawaii, we’ll meet Nana and Papa and the kids in Disneyland and spend the weekend there. Also, some big-shot publisher called while you were gone. She wants to publish your novel. She thinks it’s gonna be the next Twilight.”

3:46 p.m.
I hear my kids asking my husband what’s wrong with me. “She fainted,” he says, touching my cheek tenderly.

“Best Mother’s Day ever,” I sigh, leaning against his arm as my kids laugh and try to tickle me.

My husband picks me up and carries me out to my recliner, saying, “You haven’t even tried your cheesecake yet or watched all the Doris Day/Rock Hudson movies I rented from Netflix for you.”

“Daddy says we can have popcorn and cheesecake for supper!” my daughter cheers.

“We also got a bunch of cashews just for you, Mommy,” my son says.

My husband wraps me in a warm blanket and I cry tears of joy as he brings me a huge slice of cheesecake with raspberry sauce.

“This is all too good to be true,” I sob.

“You’re right,” he says, unzipping his skin, stepping out of the costume and stretching his green tentacles. The alien who’s been impersonating my husband all day opens his gigantic mouth and swallows me whole.

Inside his stomach, I’m reunited with my real family. The kids are bickering, as usual, complaining about the dark and fighting over a stuffed animal. My husband is angry that I didn’t recognize the alien impostors immediately.

“You’re so gullible,” he says. “Those aliens acted nothing like us!”

“Stop ruining my perfect Mother’s Day,” I moan.

“I didn’t know it was Mother’s Day,” my son says. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy.”

“Gee, thanks.”

This story was previously published at HumorOutcasts.com. If you’re not happy with this ending, maybe you’d prefer one of the alternate endings I posted there.

Happy Mother’s Day!

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