Mothers, eh, who needs ‘em

OK, I’VE HAD IT with mothers, I really have. I don’t think they’re as mothering as they used to be. They talk back a lot and don’t always follow through on their promises. Also, they’re completely milking this whole Mother’s Day thing. Take our recent experience.

6:43 a.m. The toddler jumps on his sleeping mother’s back and spins around. He looks like a man stealing a horse. “Happy Mother’s Day!” he screams. “Yee-ha!”

6:44 “Please get him off my back,” his mother moans.

6:55 I get up with the toddler so his mother can sleep. “Happy Mother’s Day,” he tells me. “Yee-ha.”

7:10 The toddler and I arrive at his favorite restaurant. The tables still smell of disinfectant. The menu is routine. But in the back, they have a giant vat of germy plastic balls you can crawl around in. “That’s the first thing I look for in a great restaurant,” I tell the toddler. He smiles like I’m kidding.

7:16 I place our order. “Happy Mother’s Day,” the toddler tells the counter man.

7:17 While waiting for our order, I notice that McDonald’s now serves Asian food. “Apparently, they’ve finally mastered every nuance of American cuisine,” I tell the toddler. “It’s time for the chef to try something new.” He smiles like I’m kidding.

7:21 I finish the rest of his breakfast. The eggs taste

like well-buttered attic insulation, with a hint of nutmeg. Wow.

7:32 While leaving, the toddler spots a giant cutout of Ronald McDonald. “Daddy?” he asks, pointing at Ronald. “No,” I say. “Not Daddy.”

7:40 While driving away, I ponder the physical similarities between Ronald and myself.

-- We’re both uncommonly handsome middle-aged men.

-- Our hair is often combed into wild, fiery angles.

-- We both have big, honkin’ clown feet.

7:55 “Honestly, I don’t know where you get Ronald McDonald,” I tell the toddler. “I’m a serious man leading a serious life.” “OK, Daddy,” he says.

8:05 At the drugstore, we look for a card. We find the Mother’s Day cards next to the “Sympathy” section. “See the theme?” I ask the toddler.

8:30 Back home, the lovely and patient older daughter is making scones. From scratch.

9:22 There is so much flour in the air, the AQMD issues a health alert.

9:25 Their mother awakens. “Happy Mother’s Day,” the toddler says again. He hugs her. He kisses her chin 100 times. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss-kiss-kiss-kiss-kiss ...

9:26 “ENOUGH WITH THE KISSES!” his sister screams.

9:32 A cellphone rings. No one answers it. It rings and rings and rings.

9:33 “Hi, it’s Sheena,” a voice says on the phone. I have no idea who Sheena is. “Sure, I’ll have her call you,” I say.

9:34 I come to the conclusion Sheena probably had the wrong number.

9:40 Sheena calls back. I assure her that I will deliver the message.

9:41 The toddler decides to watch a video on TV. He

belly-wiggles onto the couch the way I shimmy off a ladder and onto the roof. “Ooomph,” he says, exhaling from both ends.

9:44 Sheena calls again. She reports that she’s tired of waiting and is heading off to church. “Pray for me,” I say. “Of course,” she says.

11:53 I am at the giant

supermarket. I buy 20 items,

19 on impulse. The total comes to $183. “Good thing inflation’s so low,” I tell the clerk. He nods.

12:35 I arrive home. A toilet overflows.

2:48 I fix the toilet, pulling 43 pennies and a Barney keychain from its porcelain tummy.

2:49 “Someone call Sheena and tell her I fixed the toilet,” I say. “Who’s Sheena?” they ask. “I don’t know,” I say.

3:01 I lie down to take a short nap.

3:03 I begin making dinner for a dozen people, adapting techniques and flavors I learned in the Cub Scouts.

3:21 In honor of mothers everywhere, the Angels lose another game and slip into last place in the AL West.

3:24 “Something stinks,” someone says. “The Angels’ pitching staff?” I say. “No, worse than that,” they say.

3:57 The fire department leaves, having quickly contained the fast-spreading blaze. In gratitude, someone hands them a nice, over-stuffed apple pie.

4:05 I run to the store for another over-stuffed apple pie.

4:30 The guests arrive. “Something smells good,” one of them says. “That’d be me,” I explain.

7:12 The kids finish cleaning up. Without prompting, the little girl takes out the trash. People actually stand and applaud her.

8:30 I put the toddler to bed. “Happy Mother’s Day,” he tells me. “Mothers are overrated,” I say. “They are?” he asks. “OK, a few mothers are overrated, not yours,” I say.

8:31 He seems content with that. He sleeps like a baby. So do I.

Chris Erskine can be reached at chris.erskine@latimes.com.