A few weeks ago, on Mother's Day to be exact, I was having a pity party. On that day I believed my husband had done a less-than-perfect job proving to me how wonderful he and the kids think I am. It is easy to feel unappreciated when you're the one who deals with the most youngster attitude, wipes three people's rear ends, washes the poopy underwear, is treated like Paris Hilton's personal servant, and gets beat up when angers flare. I know I am fabulous, but it's important for the rest of the family to acknowledge it with loads of wet kisses and praise at least one full day a year. A couple of kick-ass presents are also helpful in setting the right mood. This year my husband botched it big time. And he knows it.
Since one of my less desirable personality traits is that I tend to be a wee bit vengeful, Steve had to pay for screwing up the Holy Day of Motherhood. Once I have punished the offender, I will able to let go of my anger and continue on as if nothing had happened. It's a curse and a gift all wrapped up into a pretty little package. I decided that very day to make him feel guilty AND teach him how to show appreciation by making his Father's Day the best one ever.
It was a brilliant scheme. I came up with the most over-the-top gift of our married life. Everyone involved in the planning of it agrees that I have really outdone myself. You see, Steve is an excellent golfer; and since we became a family he has had very little time to play the game he loves. Usually, he makes excuses to stay home on the weekend rather than play golf, because he wants us all to be together. He rarely takes time to do things by himself so he can completely relax. And what exactly do you give the man who wants to play golf but doesn't take the time to do it? A golf club membership.
The beauty of this gift is that it is paid in full for one year. He can go as often as he likes and really work on his game. And, it is only for him. It is a single membership, not a family one. The golf course is his place to escape. A place where it's o.k. to hit things with sticks. A place where he can drive a cool cart around with a Bloody Mary in his hand and not get arrested for open container, following too closely, or speeding. A place where the grass is beautifully kept, and he didn't have to mow it or pay the watering bill (actually, he doesn't do the mowing at home either, but that's o.k.). AND, he got a free sand wedge with his membership. That was Ian's gift to Steve. Ainsley gave him a shirt from the Club's Pro Shop. My plan was to take Steve and my parents to the Club for Father's Day brunch. This was the mother-load of Father's Day gifts.
Once I put everything together, I was stoked. Only, the closer the date came, the more excited I was. . .for Steve. I knew he was going to love it. This was so much cooler than any of the other Father's Day gifts we had given him in previous years. In fact, this one made me realize just how lame some of them have been - like the white necktie with the kids' picture woven repeatedly throughout the cloth so it looks like a dizzying design from afar, but up close it is a really pathetic reproduction of our children's faces. Steve is difficult to buy for - mainly because he buys himself the cool stuff that he wants all year long and leaves me with no ideas when it comes time for special occasions. So really, it's his own fault that the presents we give stink.
Although my initial intent was revenge, I soon began to see the gift for what it truly was: an acknowledgment that my husband does so much for our family that is unseen or unappreciated. I don't always thank him for doing the dishes after dinner each night. For helping with the laundry when I get behind. For trying Brussels sprouts, against his better judgment, to show the kids that everyone should try something new once in a while. For doing the dirty jobs that really gross me out. For being a loving father who has the strength to say "no" to our kids when it is good for them. For having patience with Ian when mine runs out. For having his paycheck direct deposited so I can begin spending it sooner. It is that kind of thoughtfulness that makes me hope that he doesn't feel guilty every time he goes to play golf over the next year - unless he plays all day on my birthday or our anniversary.
After brunch at the Club today, Steve took Ian and Ainsley for a sunny ride in a golf cart. They splashed through puddles of rain that had accumulated while we were eating. When they returned to the Pro Shop, they looked at clubs together and checked things out. And for the first time since I hatched my plan, I hoped that the kids, Ian especially, might develop enough interest in the game to want to join their father on the course. Even if all they do is drive the cart, sip lemonade, and say, "Whoa, awesome shot, Dad!" Because every father deserves to be admired by his children.
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