Ahhh, Mother's Day. The day when the fish say thank you to the fish-feeder.
How should we spend Mother's Day? With our kids? Hmmmm, that's a tricky one, because though it is a day to celebrate motherhood, it is also a day to celebrate the mother herself, and letting a young mother (or mother of the young, which describes it better) celebrate herself means, I propose, letting her spend the day alone in a sunny park with a worthless book? Did I just lose the candidacy for Mother of The Year? Woops.
I recently asked MoMo to send more construction paper, because all of ours has been folded carefully in half and cut into hearts, by Bright. Most of his hearts turn into get well cards, which is telling. I will say that we are not sick as often as the stash of get well cards would seem to indicate. Bright makes get well cards every time someone stubs their toe or rakes a broken ice tray across their thumb (which I did just the other day). One time Zion was in some kind of pain and Bright could be heard pawing frantically through the craft drawers in the back room growling, "Markers!!!!"
Here is a small sampling of the dozens and dozens of hearts Bright has made. I can't bear to throw any of them away.
|One of his earliest hearts.|
|After he learned about exclamation points.|
|Translation: "I love you, we can be aliens."|
|One of his most recent hearts|
|He said, "Mom, look, I am making a Mother's Day heart for you with my face."|
I crashed at 9:30 p.m., after the streamers had been taken down and little pools of peach tea had been poured from paper cups. Daniel watched a dumb movie to stay awake for our after-midnight Skype date with our friends in Shreveport who were wrapping up the reunion festivities. I was awoken in the middle of the night for the call, which never materialized on account of cruddy reception, but it was a sweet time none-the-less of being loopy and cuddly with my husband on the couch in the quiet of the night, counting our blessings.
Ding, Ding went his cell phone to signal a text message. It was a national friend (they are night-owls, can you tell?) and it said, "Tell your wife Harry Mother's Day from me." He is an English major in college, but he is only a freshman. We laughed and laughed, not at him, but at our life, and I exclaimed with joy, "A Harry Mother's Day, indeed!"
And because I love MY mom, and because I missed her like CRAZY yesterday, I will post the recipe for her fabulous, old-fashioned vanilla-shortening cupcakes, which I made for yesterday's shower and have been devouring ever since. Make them with this frosting. It is the closest thing to my mom's white frosting but not as difficult to mess up. Harry Mother's Day, Mama!
|Count out that 1 minute. 60 seconds exactly. Perfect cupcakes.|