Sunday began with an oozy, scratchy voice appearing just inches away from my face. The Boy was trying his hardest to share the cold he was trying to get over. "Mama, can I sleep with you?" One eyelid opened enough to let the harsh morning glare in and I could see that it was about 5:30 in the morning. I knew that if I didn't give in, I'd be giving up on any idea of sleeping in I had. The Man was already up and about, so this was my last chance at rest.
A blissful hour and a half later ... "Mama, will you make me pancakes?" Of course I will.
And then ...
"Mom, I need help with my book report."
"Pyu, pyu, pyu, pyu!" {my best phonetic interpretation of an inter-galactic weapon sound}
"I'm on chapter 21. What chapter are you on? Oh. The newspaper doesn't have chapters?"
{singing} "He's got the WHOOOOOOOLE world in His hands! He's got the ... "
"Mom, my voice hurts."
{back to singing} "Just a small town boy ... born and raised in south Detroit ..."
"Oh. I guess singing hurts my voice when I'm sick."
"Wanna play Uno?"
"Can you finish putting the Cub Scout patches on my vest?"
"Mooooooooo-ooooooooom.... I can't find my ... "
"Mom, Dad's not sharing!"
"Mom ... Mom? Are you there?"
And this was all before my first cup of coffee was finished. Typical day.
Our Mother's Day celebrations are simple. I get lots of hugs and kisses (whether they are cold-laden or not). I usually get a big show of "please" and "thank you" responses when I ask for things to be done. I get to pick the Sunday movie we watch as a family. But most of all, I get to hone my mad skills at mothering. It's not something I'm anxious to take a vacation from.
This year, the boys were particularly excited for the "big reveal" ... the gift they had picked out together to honor my mom-ing. A beautiful silver necklace with 3 rings on it ... they argued quite a bit over whether to interpret that as past, present and future or Dad, Mom and son.
And they're both right. I wouldn't change a thing.
