Date: Mother’s Day, 2009

Location: Kitchen

Objective: To Determine Whether or Not My Husband Remembers His Mother’s Day Plan to Cook Dinner for Me

Me: *surreptitiously glancing at clock* “Have you decided what you are making me for dinner? It’s already four p.m.”

Marty: *looks up from newspaper with panicked expression on face* “Er, you were serious about that?”

Me: “Yes dear. You asked what you and the boys could do for me today. I asked you to cook dinner.”

Marty: “Or we could go out to eat!”

Me: “No.”

Marty: “It would be fun!”

Me: “No. Dining out with a 2 and 5 year-old is not fun. Urban warfare, yes. Fun, No.”

Marty: *grabbing wallet and keys* “I’ll be back with ingredients!”

Me: “Great! Could you pick up some fresh fruit while you’re out?”

Lemons. My husband comes back with lemons. Not one lemon. Not two lemons. No, a full-on 25-pound economy-size bag of lemons. No normal fruit such as, say, apples or other things that children and other humans enjoy eating.

Me: *staring at 50 pounds of lemons sitting on kitchen counter* “Seriously? Lemons?”

Marty: “They were on sale.”

We are still drinking lemonade at our house. Lemonade that Marty makes fresh daily and will probably continue to do so for the next ten years, given the amount of lemons in our house. I couldn’t resist taking a few pieces of the beautiful yellow fruit and grabbing my camera: I’m thinking of putting this over our fireplace so that even when we are old and senile, he will never forget the day he went to the grocery store unchaperoned and bought 100 pounds of inedible, sour fruit. Lemonade, anyone?