I bought two Mother's Day cards to send to my mom. One was to be from me and Pete. One was to be from the kids.
As days ticked by and Mother's Day approached and it was clear I'd never get the cards to her on time, I went with the age-old Plan B. I sent her some beautiful flowers.
I only call it Plan B because the cards didn't get sent on time. I always send her flowers or a plant on her birthday and Mother's Day and, more often than not, on Valentine's Day and Easter, too. I don't think I've ever noted the Fourth of July or Labor Day with greenery.
Talking with her this morning, I fess up to not having sent the cards. Hell, she's my mother. I can't very well lie to her when I tell her Youngest's thank you card for his birthday gift is written and included with her Mother's Day cards. I have to add, "...which are sitting on the kitchen counter, waiting to be mailed." I don't feel compelled to add, "...not to mention waiting to be written."
[Hey, she's my mother. She doesn't have to know everything. It's not like I'm nearly 13 and kissing my first boyfriend like some nearly 13-year-old daughter I know. And with whom I live.]
So, I just now pulled out the cards to sign and have the kids sign, and I realize I'm missing the card I got for her. I instantly realize that I'm not missing the card. I have the card.
It's the one my own nearly 13-year-old daughter gave me this morning.
Yes, I bought my own Mother's Day card.
And, yes, payback is a bitch.
*I tell Pete this. His response? "I saw the three cards in the bag and I figured you bought them yourself to make sure the kids gave you cards." The boys made me their cards, of course, and I had expected Daughter to do the same. Just wait'll Father's Day, man. I hope he's planning on buying his own cards as he certainly couldn't expect his children's mother to make sure it happened. As she has managed to do each and every year since the year he was only a father in theory.