A Fancy Mother's Day

Happy Belated Mother’s Day to all from Frau Fancy (my Twitter ID, in case I ever figure it out)! I hope everyone had a lovely day. I imagine many of you were allowed to sleep in, waking to breakfast in bed, complete with flowers. Then I can see you enjoying a lovely day with your family, maybe lunch in a little neighbourhood Italian, a walk in the park, just an all around great day. It’s good I have your lives to live vicariously through. Mother’s Day at the Fancy House is yet another reminder of why I need Nannies. They fill in the gaps in more ways than you’d think.

On Sunday I got up at the crack of all that is holy dawn and started cooking. I didn’t need to get up that early to get lunch ready but when two toddlers decide it’s morning, tis better to beat cake batter than it is to beat them, don’t you think?

When Nanny #2 arrived, I left for a brief gym session. Returned to find half my cakes missing. But he said they tasted really nice. Not too sweet. Very enjoyable. Good for him.

Filled in missing cakes with candy stash, finished preparing lunch and got myself Fancied up. Then I checked my phone. I had a text. From Nanny #2. She had the girls at the park while I was getting ready.

“Forgot to wish you a Happy Mother’s Day! You deserve a great day. TC and the Princess love you! And I reminded their father as well.”

I didn’t want to tell her that I’d already tried that. It went like this:

Friday I introduced the idea. “Sunday is Mother’s Day, you know,” I announced to H.

“I thought we were celebrating my birthday this weekend.”

“Well, yes, we’ve got the X’s coming over for lunch.”

“Okay, then. You know I only have room in my schedule for one thing at a time. Don’t try and confuse me. It’s my birthday lunch. It can’t be Mother’s Day too,” he laughed. Setting the stage, leveling my expectations. So good of him.

It’s not that I was remotely surprised or that I went unappreciated. I got 5 texts over the course of the day from all the Nannies and Babysitters. And Nanny #2’s efforts didn’t go to waste. He does, it turns out, actually have a conscience.

“Did you see the girls this morning? (somewhere between your 10 am awakening and eating all my cakes you nitwit, I’m thinking. Not saying. Thinking. That’s what therapy does for you.)

“Yes. They are so cute. Oh and Happy Mother’s Day, sweetie. I love you. What time’s lunch?”

It’s something, isn’t it? It’s a start. I’m going to get the rest of the help to start working on him before my birthday.