Some are kissing mothers and some are scolding mothers, but it is love just the same – and most mothers kiss and scold together. - Pearl S. Buck

I hope all you moms out there had restful and enjoyable Mother’s Days. You all deserve them. Regardless of what you may think.

Now you and I both know that the dads are really just setting the bar for Father’s Day, but the kids really seem to get into it.

Saturday morning Primo came into my room and sternly told me, “Don’t get out of bed tomorrow morning, Mama.” That seemed a bit harsh. I mean, I know I am not the world’s most wonderful mom, but not to get out of bed….oh, I see.
Then he sternly told me that I would NOT be eating oatmeal for breakfast Sunday morning.

All right then. Your command is…my command.

This morning, I was up with Terzo at 6. I was hoping to get in a run but knew that I HAD TO BE IN BED. So I left the baby with H and went back to bed – and to sleep.

Primo brought me the newspaper, so I “wouldn’t get bored waiting for breakfast.” I tucked it under my arm like a stuffed animal and went back to sleep.

Then the procession into my room with the breakfast tray began.
I wish I had taken a picture of this tray – it was GORGEOUS.

Italian-bread French toast with cinnamon and maple syrup. The fatty, salty bacon from the Italian specialty store that I love. A glass of orange juice. A mug of hot strong Irish Breakfast tea. The sugar pourer and milk pitcher. Cutlery and a cloth napkin. All on a cobalt blue tray.

Wow.

I’ll say it again.
WOW.

Of course eating breakfast in bed is one of those things that is lovely in theory, but in reality is kind of a pain in the ass. Especially since the presentation was so lovely that I felt as if I should be wearing some sort of be-ribboned bed jacket instead of a milk-damp grey Yale t-shirt. Especially especially since Primo and Segundo desired to sit on the bed right next to me and watch me eat. It was something like I imagine eating on a ship in a storm at sea would be. Miraculously nothing spilled, and it was delicious.

Primo told me confidentially that Daddy had not helped them cook the breakfast. Daddy had just cooked it all himself. I told him that that was ok.

They gave me presents – a painting on stretched canvas they painted with Miss R, their babysitter – a lovely and vibrantly-colored abstract, complete with Terzo’s thumbprints - and a painted flower pot with a geranium in it, which Primo made at preschool (and that I carried home WITHOUT LOOKING on Friday). The flower is not dead yet, but I am sure I’ll kill it in no time. At least the pot is reusable.

They also had made me cards at the library yesterday afternoon.

Primo is, according to H, distractible (Huh. Now *there’s* a surprise…) and so his card read: I love my Mom because…” she prints out (Prints out, people, PRINTS out. Coloring pictures of Thomas and Dora and whatnot.) And that was it. Distractible, you say? Isn’t that something shiny over there? Is it a penny? Wha?

Segundo is dogged. He also got to dictate to H, so maybe he just had it easier. His number one reason for loving me? She types on the computer. Maybe that means that I leave him the hell alone to do what he likes…? Ooch. His list continued, She lets me sleep in her bed. She sleeps in my bed. (Had I mentioned we nicknamed him Oedipus?) She sings to us. She pats me. She and I like to play with toys. (This is so patently untrue about me that I feel horribly guilty. I think he might be confusing me with the babysitter…) I want her. (Which is what he wails in the middle of the night when he wakes up: “I want you, Mama! I waaaaannnnnnnttttt yeeewwwwwwwww!” Had I mentioned we’ve nicknamed him Oedipus?)

H wrote Terzo’s list for him. Obviously.
I love my mom because…
She feeds me
and helps me stand
and calls me Terzie
and rubs my belly
and sings to me
and picks me up when Daddy says, “Let him cry.”

Awwwwww…….
He’s just so dang DELICIOUS. How can I let that little bundle of nibble-able baby flesh cry?

Then we all went to church and they were having a book sale in the parish hall after the service! And I bought an entire giant shopping bag full of books for mere peanuts!
Even God wanted me to have a good Mother’s Day!