Mommy’s Special Day
By Rated Ponystar
I hate waking up on Sunday mornings, especially after late shifts in the office. Last night was particularly harsh with extra workload, bad take out that made me nauseous all night, and the fact that my boss kept staring at my butt every time I passed him. Creep. Normally, I would sleep in and let a few hours pass by before getting out of my comfortable bed to face another grueling day. But today I wasn’t going to get that, thanks to my daughter, Dinky, who’s jumping on my bed like a pogo stick.
“Wake up! Mommy! Wake up! It’s time to rise and shine!”
I don’t share the same cheery enthusiasm my daughter has. In fact, the first thing to come out of my voice sounds like I’m dying while a cat is trying to claw its way out my throat. My daughter doesn’t catch this and bounces off my bed, giggling like she’s been sprayed with laughing gas. Pushing back her blond man, she says, “Come on, Mommy! Get up! It’s a beautiful morning and Celestia’s sun is shining bright! Perfect for a special day for a special mommy!”
Oh joy. It’s going to be a special day. What would be special is if Celestia’s sun was replaced with Luna’s moon and didn’t come back for another ten hours. Another special I would enjoy is if my daughter could stop blabbering every five seconds. I love her, but dear Faust do I really wish I had a pair of earplugs. Or aspirin, that would work too. I feel like a zombie rising from the grave as I slowly get out of bed and yawn. Dinky gets my robe and I put it on with some difficulty thanks to my drowsy state. By the time I’m robed, my daughter is already gone and I can hear her thumping down the stairs. I try to yell at her not to rush down them—for what had to be the hundredth time—but I don’t have the energy. All that comes out of my mouth is a little gurgle.
After a short bathroom trip to freshen up, I head downstairs where I smell something fowl in the air. My eyes widen and instincts kick in, directing me towards the kitchen. Just as I feared, Dinky is worriedly looking at a pan of burning hay bacon while our toaster is smoking, causing the smoke detectors to kick in which add more noise to my growing headache. I quickly order her out and get the extinguisher, putting it to good use on the hay bacon. When that’s done, I turn off the gas and then take out the plug for the toaster, just as two black squares shoot out and smack me in the face.
Oh this is going to be one of those mornings, isn’t it?
Normally, I’m not this grumpy. Most ponies say I’m quite cheerful. But yesterday was just such a bad day that not even the biggest muffin the world is going to cheer me up this fast.
Rubbing my muzzle, I refrain from cursing up a storm, for my daughter’s sake, while using my wings to reach the infernal beeping machine. Shutting it off, I head back down and glare at the instigator, who’s poking her hooves together nervously.
“What have I told you about using the kitchen without me present, young lady?!” I shout, pointing at the burned food as evidence for her mistake.
She was squirming. Good. Didn’t she realize just how dangerous it was for her to be trying out cooking, at her age?! What if she burned herself?! Or the house?!
“I-I’m sorry. I just wanted to make breakfast for you. It-t’s your special day anyway.”
That again? What special day is she talking about? It’s not my birthday or anything. Grumbling, I put the toaster against an open window to cool off—as well as ward off the smell—while taking a spatula to peel away the burned bacon and dump it in the trash.
So far Dinky is two for two this morning. Waking me up when I didn’t want to and nearly putting us on the street due to her need to play chef. I feel another migraine coming and quickly begin to put together a cup of coffee and a muffin. At least she didn’t touch either of those, or else there would be an emergency.
As I wait for the cup to finish from the coffee maker, I feel a tug on my robe. Looking down, I see Dinky with a big smile and a letter in her mouth. It wasn’t the mail, since mail never came on Sundays and I would know since it’s my job, but I’m not worried about it at the moment. All I want is a cup of coffee.
“Mommy! Read this please! I made it for you!”
“Not right now, Muffin. Mommy needs a cup of joe.”
“But Mommy!”
“Not now! Later!”
She pouts and walks away. My conscious chastises me for dismissing her like that, but I really need this cup of coffee. And I really needed a muffin. If I didn’t get a morning muffin every day I was going to be a cranky pony. Tax season has started again and I need all the strength I need if I’m going to concur it. Taking my finished coffee, I inhale its heavenly aroma while heading over to my workstation where my pens, paper, and calculator is. When I arrive, I find something that makes me drop the mug from my hand and onto the floor. It’s a mess. No, worse than a mess. It’s a disaster. Drawing paper, ink, colored pencils, paints and brushes, it’s all scattered like a tornado had suddenly crashed through at Mach Five. As my brain tries to process this, I notice something unique among the mess.
There are stickers with stars and rainbows on my desk, giving me a clear picture to who the perpetrator was. Enraged, I scream Dinky’s name with such ferocity that I’m sure the windows are shaking. She rushes over and flitches at the mess before looking at me with guilt.
“I-I’m sorry. I was going to clean it up but—“
“But what?! How many times have I told you not to touch Mommy’s Work Desk?! Look at the mess you made! It’s going to take me hours to clean all this up! Not to mention I have to get new supplies to replace the ones you wasted! These things cost money you know! Don’t you listen to anything I say?!”
Dinky was tearing up, stepping back in fear as I feel my blood rush upwards towards my angered face. “I… I was just making… It was for you and… special day…”
“Special day, huh?! We’ll it’s not a special day! You woke me up from my sleep, giving me the most annoying of headaches! Nearly caused a fire in our kitchen! And you ruined my work space which I was going to use today! This isn’t a special day you’ve given me! It’s a horrible morning!”
My daughter runs away, crying and shouting that she’s sorry. I hear her run up the stairs before closing the door with a slam that echoes across the entire house. I take deep breaths to calm myself before heading to the table where I bang my head against the wood. Hard. My migraine had officially doubled; it feels like an ax is lodged into my brain.
Lifting my head up, I notice the letter on the table that my daughter was trying to give me earlier, the one with my name written on it in crayon. Curious, I take it and open the letter, revealing a card that has a red heart in the middle with stickers on it. Opening it, I feel my heart stop as soon as I start reading:
Happy Mother’s Day Mommy!
You’re the best in the whole world!
You’re the one who works hard to keep me happy.
You’re the one who takes care of me when I’m sick.
You’re the one who loves me no matter what I do.
Some fillies have a full family, like a mommy, a daddy, and even other foals like me.
But just having you is enough to make me smile and love you every day.
I love you Mommy!
I love you so much!
Oh, my Celestia.
What have I done?
I just yelled at my sweet daughter; when all she was trying to do was please me for Mother’s Day. A day I forgot all about. My heart aches as tears drip down my eyes and onto this beautiful card my daughter worked so hard on. All she wanted was to please me and I turned her away. She just wanted to cook me breakfast and say how much she loved me. Yet I yelled at her. Screamed at her. Pushed her away in anger when she did nothing wrong. Yes, she made mistakes, but she’s only a filly.
Only a filly. And I yelled at her.
I’m a monster. No, I’m worse than a monster. What kind of a mother am I?
I rush up to the stairs, wiping my tears away as I make for Dinky’s room. My heart ache only worsens as I hear her crying from behind the door, all because of my foalishness. I raise my shaking hoof and knock on her door. “Muffin, it’s me.”
“Go away!” she yells at me, justifiably so.
“Dinky, please! I just want to talk! I promise I won’t yell anymore!”
I get no response for a while until I hear the door’s lock click. Sighing in relief, I enter my daughter’s room. She’s sitting on her Power Pony’s bed, the one with that pegasus who can summon weather that she admires so much. I sit down and wrap my foreleg around her while she looks down at the floor with her tear filled eyes, ashamed.
“Muffin? Please, look at me.” I tilt her head towards mine and she looks at me with those beautiful yellow sun eyes that I adore so much.
“I’m s-sorry, Mommy. I-I j-just wanted-d to make you feel special…” she says, closing her eyes in frustration. “I messed up everything. I’m a horrible daughter.”
“Don’t say that! You’re not the one who should apologize. I should,” I say, giving her the biggest hug I can give. I can hear her tiny, innocent heart beating as I weep on her shoulders. “I was the horrible one. I never should have yelled at you for trying to make me feel special on Mother’s Day. It was wrong. Can you forgive me?”
“Of course! I can never hate you, Mommy!” she yells at me. She notices the card in my hand and gasps. “You read the card?! Was it good?! Did you like it?!”
I smile and kiss her on the forehead. “It was the best thing I’ve ever read. I’m very happy that you made it for me.”
She giggles and soon gives me a smile. A smile that I work hard for so that it never fades away. A smile that reminds me why I chose to have her, even when everybody told me to get rid of her, saying me how much I was throwing away by becoming a single mom. The smile that hasn’t changed since I first held her in my arms. My little baby muffin. My Dinky Doo.
I promise to myself to never forget again how much I should be grateful to have such a kind, sweet, and forgiving daughter to call my own. All my previous bad moments are all washed away by her loving embrace and I feel more energized than any cup of coffee could have done for me. I’m taking her to Sugarcube Corner and then we’re spending the day at the fair. Just the two of us with nothing to worry about.
Just because it’s my special day, doesn’t mean I can’t share it.
