Just to give you an idea as to the current level of passion in my life, I'll tell you what my stubbornly sensible husband gave me for Mother's Day -- a laptop. That's right; my one and only gave me an ever so delicately feminine, sturdy, black beast of a laptop. In all fairness, it was intended as a gift in support of my creative interests, or as he put it, a necessity; a medium for the incarnation of my best-selling novel that would take us from drowning in debt to swimming in the waters of our private beach in front of our sprawling 5-bedroom bungalow in Hawaii.
Up until yesterday, I was writing on an ancient notebook at which I had to impersonate The Hunchback and squint to get any work done; a little ghetto, but I didn't mind. As long as I could produce the small fortune required to appease my daily mocha addiction and keep me humming along happily, I made due. I never asked for an upgrade, but the gesture in support of my professional aspirations as an artiste, although exceedingly bereft of the romance called for by such an occasion as this one (celebrating not only the nine months I endured growing a human being inside me and the physical and emotional scars I was left with, but the responsibility I have taken on to nurture and cherish this being forever -- even when I don't feel like it) was appreciated. I suppose I'll just have to buy a pink case for it.
Fortunately, it wasn't all sense and sensibility in the Levy household. I knew not to expect much in the way of frivolity. I did, however, receive a dozen roses accompanied by a card from father and daughter cute enough to display on the fridge (the platform on which I display all my fine art and anything sentimental that will adhere via magnet). Of course the itinerary I had planned allowed for further romantic opportunities to unfold (sipping mochas on my patio of choice followed by a walk along the river and a delightfully indulgent lunch somewhere with impeccable service and food worth the wait and the contribution to our debt). As every parent knows, however, the best-laid plans are pointless with child in tow. On this particular day, our petite princess woke with a runny nose, sore throat and a disposition to match. We quickly laid our day of dalliance to rest, pumped her full of Tylenol, grabbed our mochas to go, took a drive around the river and came home to spend the rest of the day on the couch glued to whatever our PVR had recorded all week. In the end, I thought the day a smashing success. The three of us were happiest snuggled in sweats and each other anyways.
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