I’m still adjusting to the fact that when Mother’s Day rolls around, it’s not just about remembering to call my mom. I get to celebrate, too. Nutty.
Tom vacated the hotel early to get home and take over the kids from my mom, leaving me to have a leisurely breakfast with friends and do some shopping at my own speed. Is it bad to celebrate Mother’s Day by not being with your kids?
Don’t scorn me yet. I made it home by mid-afternoon, in time to receive my homemade t-shirt and many big hugs and kisses. Neko drew a picture, folded the paper, and wrote “Mom” on it without any help from an adult. Kate said when they learn to write it melts your heart, and I’m finding that she’s right on the money.
Later I demanded we learn how to use the timer on the camera and take a quick family portrait and then the kids practiced their rock star moves where they take a running start and drop to their knees for a sliding finish. (Video to follow, I swear.) Shep demanded that Tom and I try it a few times, but knees over the age of thirty are clearly not meant for such activities.
Tomorrow, back to the mom trenches. Today? A supastar. (With bruises on her knees to prove it.)