The waffles were excellent, thank you very much.
Conor asked me for tape. "Mom, Lyndsay needs the tape so she can wrap you pajamas for you present," he blurted out. I smiled and tucked the secret away. Sure enough, Lyndsay presented me with a beautifully wrapped box with cute, cute, cute summer pajamas. She has such great taste.
Church was nice. The talks were supportive and glowing, and not guilt-inducing in the least. I felt proud to be a mom. I liked it when the speaker used the quote about motherhood being near to divinity. (You hear that, people?!)
Conor and Aiden sang with the Primary in Sacrament meeting, and I'm sorry, but Conor stole the whole show. Too much cuteness. I was beaming. And teary-eyed, of course. They each presented me with a little pot containing zinnia seeds and a thumbprint flower card that read, "My love for you grows and grows. . ."
We came home to a messy kitchen and hungry kids. Adam did the dishes (he's kind of taken over that chore lately, and what a difference that makes!) while I prepared a pan of nachos. Everyone chowed down and all I wanted was a nap. A Mother's Day nap. It was divine.
But not everything goes smoothly as mother dreams peacefully. I woke up to the sound of air-soft pellet guns shooting outside. A definite no-no. They've been warned. But when I came downstairs, I was distracted by the mess everywhere and as I opened the door to find THE BOYS I was horrified to find that they had tagged all over the driveway, back patio, and block wall. In oil pastel crayons. They thought it was chalk.
Let me just pat myself on the back because I did not scream. And nobody died. But I did raise my voice in disbelief and I did question, "Why? Why? Why?" And I rubbed my temples in an attempt to keep my blood pressure down. "We do not live in the ghetto! And you are not gangsters!"
Up to the computer they went, searching for how to remove crayon from concrete. Nothing works that well. Guess who's paying for a power sprayer? (Hint: not me.)
One of the boys remarked, "Wow, I'm really screwing up Mother's Day." I remarked, "No, no, you haven't ruined Mother's Day, and I love you, but whenever you have an idea, I need you to think before you act."
To which he replied, "I did think." So where do we go from there? I'll tell you where. Grounded, for one thing. And the other thing is that I'm considering pawning them off on the police task force that removes graffiti from inner city buildings and overpasses. Just so they can see how un-beautiful and undesirable (and criminal) this artform is.
They wanted to know what we were having for dinner. "Nothing," I replied. "It's Mother's Day and I'm not hungry, so I'm not making dinner." So they helped themselves to cereal and called it good. Ironic, since at lunch I had tongue-in-cheek suggested that we go around the table and each say what we like about having me for a mom. The boys couldn't think of anything at first. Lyndsay likes that I always cook meals, and Adam said, "Hey, you stole mine!" Maybe that is all I'm good for.
I went to bed early. The rowdiness had worn me out and my allergies and back pain already had me hanging by a tattered thread. Conor opened my door and peeked into my bedroom.
"Can I ask you a question?" he asked.
"Sure, what is it?"
"Do you know how much Conor loves you?"
I couldn't help but smile. This is the question he asks every night, and it's really just a ploy to get out of his bed and steal a few more minutes of awake time with mom.
My smile gave him the permission he was hoping for to come running to my bed and climb up on top to hug me. He gives the best hugs.
"I don't want a different Mommy, I want you to be my Mommy," he said.
"I will be your mommy forever," I assured him.
"Because I love you so, so supey much," he said. And this is how much:
"I love you so, so much, more than a helmet."
I think that's a lot. And I think he just resurrected my Mother's Day.