I know, it's mother's day.
Carren is convinced that she only incubated our son, because he looks like me but not her, and our daughter looks like her sister more than her.
So it's incubator's day around casa del Ziegenfi.
For our anniversary, I got the Missus This.
For incubator's day, I went a bit different, and had to collect blood samples from all of us. I'll write more about that after the project is complete, except to say that it isn't a blood test to determine maternity.
Right now, there are only three people who know what I'm up to, and I am not telling.
In the great tradition of Mothers' day, the yard apes woke up early, completed the destruction of their bedroom, advanced the swath of destruction into the living room, began watching "honey, I shrunk the kids" for the gozillionth time (if only life could imitate art...", and then proceeded to bicker about everything. Pretty standard stuff, really.
As for The Mrs., she stayed in bed until 1000 am, and was rudely awakened when Bubba decided to take a dive off his bunk-bed ladder, bumping his tail bone and hitting his ankle in the process. (Bother were fine within three minutes, but he was screaming like he'd been set on fire.)
So now they're eating eggs and toast, The Mrs. is doing the OCD thing around the house, and I'm sitting here quietly blogging and trying to conserve energy. It's a crappy day, and I've funny feeling the kids are going to behave like a pair of meth-addled ferrets in a shoebox full of thumbtacks. Later, the Mrs. will do the maternal hunter-gatherer bit at the local walmart and treat herself to a mall trip, and I will graciously look after the ever-growing progeny.
Why is it that on mother's day, most moms want a day away from their kids?