A Little Mother's Day Schmaltz
I was thinking about Mother's Day, and I considered all the images that sum up Mother's Day for me, so I thought I would share them with you. I know some of you are worried about a saccharine column devoted to chubby baby knees and the beauty of natural childbirth – get serious.
H ugs and kisses from my sweet, snot covered babies.
The A byss of putrescence that is my diaper genie.
P urple crayon embedded in the buttons of my cell phone.
P ygmy toys lodged in my foot at 3 a.m.
The Y en my daughter has to watch tap dancing tubers when only the roosters are awake.
A M inivan full of French fries and splattered apple juice.
O tter pops in the DVD player.
T raveling to a dozen stores to find the only binky acceptable to my finicky little sucker.
H earing “Mommy, I love you”.
E ar infections, eye boogers, and mucus of every type.
R osy red cheeks, noses and bottoms.
S loan; sweet, sensitive and brilliant
D odge; exuberant, happy and luminous.
A ll I ever wanted.
The Y awn of a happy, if not terribly exhausted, Mommy at the end of the day.
Okay, so the end got a little maudlin. Even the most droll mothers get syrupy when they think of their babies.
My mother's day will entail getting up at five in the morning to feed the baby, then I'll place Dodge back in his cradle and I'll crawl back into bed, with Scott and Sloan (that's right, we all sleep in one room like a big bunch of refugees). I'll pull my whole group out of bed by their underwear at seven and throw them, en masse, into the shower so that we can show up to church late. Every pious worshipper will turn around, slightly offended, as we come in . . . inexplicably ALWAYS during prayer.
Whatever your crazed tradition on Mother's Day, have a great one. I'll give you the traditional Mommy blessing:
May all your poopy diapers be well contained,
May all your tantrums be easily controlled,
May your husband pick up his underwear,
And may you get a break from “Mommy, where's my…”.
Have a very happy Mother's Day!
Boise City News