Celebrating Mother's Day, Redneck Style

This coming weekend is Mother's Day, a day when most mothers get breakfast in bed, spa packages, pampering, lavish gifts and adoration.

Not this redneck mother, of course.

No, it doesn't matter that Mother's Day comes on the same weekend every year and there are always a bazillion commercials about flowers, jewelry and spa getaways. Every year, around the Monday before MDay, when I have fielded concerns from the kids that Daddy hasn't taken them shopping and they're afraid my feelings will be hurt if they don't get me something, I politely remind my husband that Mother's Day swiftly approaches. And every year I get the same reply, "Well....I don't know what you want...."

I guess the post-it notes all over the house, the cut-out ads pasted on the fridge and the loud comments that begin with "I sure would like to have...." just isn't enough. Last year I even went as far as to approach him with a typewritten list, complete with graphics and prices, so as to ensure success all around.

So this year, I had a plan. I got out mine and Abby's season passes to Silver Dollar City and noticed that the free passes that will get my two youngest children in the park expire in a few weeks. So I casually mentioned to the kids (rather loudly) that we needed to plan a trip. Oh, sometimes being evil is so easy. What ensued was a cacophony of squeals, pleas and downright begging. He then "got" the brilliant idea that the kids and I take off for the weekend.

If I ever chose to use my powers for evil and not good, I'd be dangerous.

We almost had a glitch in the plans, though, and my little junior rednecks had to make a tough decision. This weekend the Outlaw Nationals are coming to town. We never miss out on a chance to sit in a hot, humid, dusty outdoor stadium to listen to our ear drums come about as close to rupturing as they possibly can without actually doing so, eat cotton candy, swat flies and do lots of hollering when the trucks wreak utter destruction on anything in their paths. But my darlings chose Branson. I'm so proud. *tear* Proof positive I am raising them right.

Branson, here we come! The motel has wi-fi AND two indoor pools. Of course, I'll be so paranoid with the kids in the pool that I won't be able to enjoy any pool-side blogging, but it makes me feel special knowing that I could if I weren't neurotic. We're going to Silver Dollar City, the Ripley's Believe It Or Not museum and the kids seem to think that mini-golf is in the cards. If it keeps us away from the go-cart tracks, I'm totally up for mini-golf. Of course, a trip to Build A Bear Workshop in Springfield is mandatory on the way home - they seem to think their bears need new duds. And who am I to argue?

As much as I love my husband, he is absolutely no fun whatsoever on vacation. Disney World was the final attempt at a family vacation with that man. ForEVER. I mean it. He doesn't like Branson, anyway. Usually we go to Branson with Mom and Tater and Tater's tots and while I love going with them, I'm looking forward to this trip being just my kids and me. We're going to be loud in the van and more than likely, yes the kids will be allowed to jump on the beds in the motel room. Because I'm so cool like that. We're also taking virtually every electronic device we own - MP3 players, Discmans, the laptop, and Gameboys and we will use them all at the same time on the loudest volume possible. Because we can. And there won't be a cranky redneck daddy to gripe about it.

I can hardly wait.