I type to the sound of warm water running over a small bag of frozen breast milk. It is being thawed for our precious Willa. I have the pleasure of her care for a couple of hours today. She woke a little early and cried for a minute until we heard her. Christopher and Lydia were in the kitchen when I brought her out blinking. She stopped crying immediately as they crowded around her coohing, aaaawwing and ooooohing. She is much loved.
You have to see THIS. Go to the theater immediately. Now! Now! Now!
If you want to start your day with a smile, please go HERE.
Lydia is on a baking kick and has earned the nickname, “Birdie Crocker” from her Aunt Torey. A batch of chocolate chip cookie bars is being whipped up as I write. Eden is shuffling through recipes in a mini baking kit she received for her birthday and Christopher is bobbing around, avoiding some schoolwork and getting in the way of the young Ms. Crocker.
“You know Mom,” he said to me, “one of my joys in life is eating cookie dough before it is baked.”
Since his other joys seem to be teasing his sisters, shrieking loudly, staying up late and then sleeping in to all hours, I’m glad (the risk of salmonella aside) that this is a joy we all share.
Our Mother’s Day ritual is that I stay in bed while Paul gets up with the kids and helps them get together their cards and presents then they all descend upon me with effusive love and, sometimes, coffee. Usually I fake sleep so that can have the pleasure of waking me, but this year my slumber was genuine. I was crashed. They barged in shouting “Happy Mother’s Day!” and all handed me their cards as they clambered onto the bed. I hugged each one and announced I would be going from youngest to oldest. Eden’s card was a yellow piece of construction paper on which a piece of blue construction paper, folded in half, had been rakishly glued at an angle. On the blue paper Eden had drawn something that, when I first saw it, could have been a heart, possibly a barn with a silo, but was actually a “rainbow chick”. Now that I know, I can only see a bird.
Inside it was filled with Paul’s hand writing. Clearly there had been some dictation.
I love you ’cause you’re you Mommy, I love anyway, anything, anyway and anything. Mommy, you’re beautiful and pretty. And you can call Daddy a angel, but he doesn’t go in the sky. I love you anywhy! Case. Nice. Pretty. Mommy, you are the one and the kind. A little more stuff. Happy Mother’s Day, Eden efghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
Does it get any better than that? We have compliments on my personal beauty, declarations of unconditional love, fantastic rhyming, most of the alphabet…what else is there?
Coffee, there was coffee.