Just Stuff (insert dirty word here)

Happy Mothers Day to all my tired, stretch marked, cellulite dimpled, puckered, saggy, baggy, partners in arms out there. If you are not of the Christian persuasion, you did not get your little angel up early this morning and try to drag him and your bleary-eyed husband to Sunday School. If, by some chance, you did you will have almost instantly realized your mistake. You will have unloaded your child at the church in the pouring rain and totally screwed up your tidy hair-do. You will have placed him gently (mostly) in the nursery at chuch and hurried off to the sanctuary to start class and end up so sleepy that you miss most of it. And you will have ended up sitting next to the biggest suprise crack up in the entire congregation who, by pure timing, when the pastor reads the parent tip of the week and states (gravely) that as a parent you can destroy a kid's self esteem in about 3.2 seconds, turns to you and quipps; "faster, if you practice!" making you snort and laugh which earns you a gritty look from the pastor himself. You will also bust butt to pick up your adopt-a-fogies and return to the church late and then be later as you have to unload the fogies at the door (with their walkers) and park in the overflow lot as the hadicapped spots are all full and because of that you will miss the baptism taking place that morning. When you actually get in to the service your 3 year old angel will proceed to make your hair steam and your teeth grind by the creative ways he finds to make a boob of himself (and you) and you at one point attempt to poke him in the shoulder with your (my) long fingernail to show him that you are not kidding and that truck noises do not belong in the sanctuary when you miss his shoulder and poke him (rather hard) in the neck. This will preface the long, pitiful, overly dramatic wailing that draws every eye in the place. Some sympathetic, some smug. All unwelcome. You will then drag your kid to the cry room (how apt) and proceed to give him something to cry about. At this point you are seriously miffed and feeling guilty about pounding the behind of this child IN CHURCH. As you are pulling yourself and him together he proceeds to remind you why you shouldn't feel guilty but should feel miffed by telling you that he doesn't like you. At that moment you glance out the cryroom window and notice that your husband is still in the sanctuary smiling slightly and actually listening to the sermon. You think, this is mother's day. Woo-hoo. On Father's Day, I'm flattening his tires.

Seriously, though, I received garden stuff for mothers day. It is all beautiful, fragrant and very much appreciated. I also was told about 30 times today by my three year old angel "Happy Mother's Day!" which I loved. And to top all of that perfection, my darling and perfect husband made me (I absolutely swear) the most perfect cup of coffee ever. What a strange and glorious blessing my family is!