There was a knock on the door right as I was shouting at Natalie to put on her pants and stop acting like a dog.
It’s something she likes to do. Crawl around on her hands and knees in her underwear and act like a dog. Some people might think this is cute. And it is, until she continuously crawls in front of you. Then you’re tripping over her tiny frame, twisting left and right, and it just gets old. I tell her to play dog someplace else, I tell her she can play dog in her underwear as long as she likes if she does it in her room. But no, she has to be with me.
So yes, I was telling Natalie to put on her pants and stop acting like a dog because I had enough—and it wasn’t in a soft voice either. At that point I had been tripped four times, the first time having made me lose my grasp on my water I was holding so it flung all across the living room. And yes, you might be thinking, oh, it’s water, no big deal. But a gigantic water streak went across the TV and that is a VERY BIG DEAL. (The TV was okay, thank goodness.)
What the guy probably heard was this as he knocked: “NATALIE! That’s enough! PUT ON YOUR PANTS AND STOP ACTING LIKE A DOG!”
I’m surprised he didn’t run off.
I might have run off.
I paused, unsure if I heard the door. It could have been Tommy. He likes to slam across his bed over and over again so it makes a thumping noise. He does this because he craves the crashing feeling against him. It doesn’t bother me. I know it helps him.
“Was that the door?” I asked Natalie, who was still on all fours.
“Woof,” she responded, still pantsless, because even when I shout, she could care less, to which people might go, “Then stop shouting. Clearly it doesn’t work.” But I only have so much patience. I’ve always said that I parent like Roseanne and Frankie Heck in The Middle. Some people are shouters.
I opened the door and all I saw was a bouquet of flowers floating. I thought, okay, wow, I need caffeine. Floating flowers! Then I realized a guy was behind the spray of pink, holding them up by their gigantic vase.
“Could you sign this?” the guy asked, handing me a clipboard. His eyes darted around so I’m pretty sure he heard me yell. He also most likely spotted Natalie crawling past the door in her drawers. That didn’t help matters either.
He handed over the gigantic flowers and I almost dropped them. They were heavy! And gorgeous.
“Have a nice day,” the guy said and rushed back to his car. I’m sure we were his weirdest delivery of the day.
“Who gave these to us?” Natalie asked, because everything I get immediately becomes OURS.
“Daddy, I bet. Unless John Krasinski finally noticed me. Not that I could act on it, but still, the gesture would be exciting,” I replied, carrying them into the kitchen. I opened the tiny envelope and pulled out the card. I smiled. Yup, from Tom. For Mother’s Day.
The flowers were a surprise. I mean, he had said he mailed a package. And I got the package the day before. He sent everyone camels.
(I named mine Sampson.)
I assumed that was it. No, wait, he did say there would be a card in the mail. And I got that on Saturday, but I didn’t allow myself to open it until Mother’s Day.
But the flowers? Were a surprise. He can still surprise even though he’s deployed and like a million miles away.
The card made me tear up. And yes, he actually wrote in it. (My longtime readers will understand this. Tom has argued that he doesn’t need to write anything because the card already says what he feels. I insist that you must write in a card to make it personal.)
So even though Tom wasn’t here for Mother’s Day, and even though the kids drove me a little crazy, I still had an enjoyable weekend.
And yes, the flowers are still alive!