Brinnng. Brinnnng. The phone rang furiously.  My bottem was in-air as I was bent over the front seat, seat-belt unlatched to try to catch the caller.  Like a dog trying to unearth a bone, I frantically dug in the baby bag, pocket book, and shopping sacks while my hiney shined at passersby.  Brinnng. Brinnnnng. One hand in, one hand out.  My body was tinkering.  Got it.  Upon locating my phone, I held the prize as I quickly scooted into normal passenger  mode. 

“Hello,” I answered.  There was no dial tone. The voice mail answered before I could. Rats! 

As I listened to the message, Brian began to laugh uncontrollably.  “I was calling to see if you wanted a T-shirt,” the caller recorded.  Hysterically, my husband tears with laughter. “We are placing orders for the MOMs Club T-shirts. Do you want one,” the message continued.  In true St. Nick fashion my husband bounces up in down in the drivers seat with laughter. Jolly old Brian’s entire body vibrated with cackles of amusement until tears came to his eyes. 

“Babe, you have to tell me what is so funny,” I told him.  He withheld. I pursued.  Finally, he confided: that is the funniest thing that I have ever heard.  Apparently, the thought of MOMs Club apparel brings him shrieking with merriment.  “This is over-the-top,” he howled still bubbling with snickers.  Before he could contain his chuckles, I told him that I had actually ALREADY ordered one.  I bought one as soon as I found out about it!  In fact, I can’t wait for it to come in. 

“That’s great,” he cheerfully tittered.  “That is so great. I am glad to see you are so excited about being a Mom.” 

We retired the conversation, as I sat smugly rolling my eyes at his amusement and he sat face-strapped-with-a-smile.  I still do not know what is so funny about having a T-shirt for the MOMs Club.  I have Rotary Club T-shirts, old sorority t-shirts, Ga-Fl T-shirts, and shirts for banks and every other establishment in town.  I guess he doesn’t think the MOMs club is a serious club.  I guess he doesn’t think that changing diapers repeatedly every day, planning menus, shopping for ingredients, entertaining a 7 month old with music, toys, dancing, and conversation warrents a garment.  But, it does.  We deserve so much more than a lousy t-shirt.  Actually, Moms deserve a trophy.  And you know, we have one, or two, or three, or even four.  Each new family member, with their toothless grins and warm kisses, is trouphy enough.  So, I guess he is right afterall.  We don’t JUST deserve a t-shirt, though, we deserve more. 

Speaking of T-Shirts and Dads, I think this guy has a clue. I believe I am going to order one of these for dear old Papa Brian!