On Mother’s Day I woke up to this:
Homemade cards, pictures, tissue flowers, original poems, and a really cool purple notepad from Ethan that had a picture he drew on every single page. All of this was accompanied by one of Derrick’s signature homemade omelets and fresh fruit, delivered on a tray as I woke up, of course. The perfume is my gift from Derrick, via a less-than-subtle-hint given by me, to Megan, to give to her father. (Premeditated tackiness beats a pouty aftermath. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.)
A full shot of the loot. I was thrilled, and touched. The gifts just kept pouring in, most of them homemade, which are my favorite kind. If you look closely, you can see that I am wearing a necklace made by Megan. I love it. I wore it to church and no less than four people stopped me and complimented it, asking where I got it. None of them could believe it was handmade, by my nine-year old daughter, no less. Ethan admiringly asked, “Is that a real diamond, Mom?” I told him yes, of course it was. He was impressed. (And please excuse the hope chest that somehow got plunked down backward when we moved in, and the bare, undecorated wall it rests against. Still getting settled.)
After the final gifts were opened and I began rousing myself out of bed to get ready for church, the girls dropped one last envelope on my lap. I tore it open with well-deserved anticipation, as it stated the following:
As instructed, I spent a full two hours lounging upstairs in the rare bliss of quiet, late Sunday solitude. I spent most of the time doing important things like updating my iPod and reading your blogs, while my two little dears slaved away in the kitchen, preparing the special meal they’d been planning for days. Derrick did all of the shopping for them, but I need to make it clear here that they did every last bit of cooking–including dipping, frosting, and slicing–one hundred percent on their own. They called on their father only to bring down great-grandmother’s china from a high shelf. I was truly impressed.
Strawberry petit fours
Hand-dipped chocolate covered cherries.
Not pictured: “Salted Almonds” and “Plump Green Grapes” as appetizers
This food was all so good. Not good as in “oh, that’s-so-cute-that-my-kids-made-it” good, but for real: geeoood! I ate like a queen and enjoyed every bite. The chocolate-dipped cherries were especially delicious, although the petit fours were light, moist and delectable. We ate and chatted, and when it was all over Rachael looked around and said, “Um, mom…do you want to sit and talk a while?” It was then that I realized she had just learned the first lesson of womanhood: it’s exhausting, and inevitable, that a meal you spend hours preparing will be over in fifteen minutes, max. Oh my sweet girl, how I wish I could shield you from such truths…
It was a fabulous day. I have fabulous kids. I know you do, too. I also know this was a long, shameless post, but I don’t care. Soon my daughters will enter their teen years and start hating me, and I’m gonna need posts like these to look back on during those dark days ahead. But until those days come, I’m flying high. Right now, I’m just happy to be a mother, especially to my own sweet children. Aren’t you?
p.s. It’s two and a half years later and I just re-read this post. The self-indulgence of the text aside, um…what was I wearing? Yikesies.