Mother's Day, 2011

I like to document holidays, so I know how high to pitch my demands in subsequent years.

I do not choose to be disappointed on Mother's Day. Instead of waiting with arched brow for the day to flop weakly into my lap, I look at it as a "buy whatever I want and eat stuff" day. This year, about two weeks ahead of time, I filled 6 carts with small goodies, left them all open on the computer, and said, "Buy one of these or I KEEL YOU." A package arrived a few days later. Now I am wondering how I may apply this arrangement to other areas of life, as well. "You missed the coffee cups beside the couch when you did the dishes; I left an audio book I want up on iTunes." With sufficient abuse, I can destroy all odds of ever receiving gifts in this fantastic manner again.

The kids jumped on me with kisses and a card. The boy had carefully written a letter thanking me for giving birth to him, teaching him to knit and sew, and distracting the infink while he was trying to use the computer. The man gave me a shoebox with a paper-wrapped bundle inside. YAAAARN! I petted my new Shelter, carried it around like a baby, took pictures of it, and put it into my shirt like falsies. A cinnamon bun was placed in my hand, my coffee was refilled, and a little envelope with dangly earrings was presented. "They jingle like wind chimes," the man said sheepishly. I narrowed my eyes at him. "You DID off my bracelet!" He tucked his lips in guiltily. About 14 years ago, I had a little bracelet covered with tiny tinkling bells. Teen-man-person would clap his hands to his ears whenever I walked in the room. "THE BELLS! Make it STOP!" One morning it was simply gone, and I have long suspected foul play. I put the earrings on and watched him smile through clenched jaw as I jingled into the kitchen. Very pleasing.


The ex-father-in-law called to wish me a good morning. "So are you two done having kids, or what? Are there plans for more babies? Going to go for your girl?" I threw the phone at Mike like it was a viper laughed and told him about the unusual weather. "I read my bible, and it talks about the end times. I don't want to think that's what's happening, but it seems to be." "Ah, well, if it weren't for the news, we wouldn't know about all the small disasters that go on from day to day, and it would just look like any other morning from our window." "Yes, you can put your head in the sand, and the worst that could happen is you suffocate," he agreed. At least I think that was an agreement. It made me laugh, anyway.

There was breakfast with my mother on ichat, a margarita for lunch, quiet time to work, a bag of chocolate blueberries, the new Charlaine Harris book, shrimp tempura, strawberry shortcake, and a curlup on the couch in front of the Wire after bedtime. I was only pooped on once while running the infink to the bathroom, and managed to sneak in a hot shower without anyone banging on the door.

A day of miracles!