My husband and children are wonderful about making sure Mother's Day is close to perfect for me. In the last few years we've built a tradition around Mother's Day that includes the following:
The kids are extra-sweet in the morning, often bringing me breakfast in bed (which they wanted to do this year, but we decided to go to church early in order to have more of the day afterwards, and also, I was up before they were)
A nap
A trip to Seattle, where they deposit me at the Elliott Bay Book Company and I have time to browse, drink coffee (possibly/probably followed by a glass of wine if I'm there long enough), and read and write by myself
Dinner out (Veggie Grill or the Elliott Bay Brewery)
Matt brought home roses this weekend, and they are beautiful.
He also generally tries to make sure the kitchen is cleaned up before we go anywhere. This afternoon we were running a little behind schedule, though, and so by the time we wanted to leave the kitchen was still cluttery with breakfast and lunch dishes.
"This will be okay, though, right?" I said, fretting.
"YES. I will clean this all up tonight. AND I'll straighten up all my shirts in the closet."
"Are you sure? It won't be like, if I leave it like this today it'll STAY like this until we come home from school on Monday? Because I can't deal."
"It will be fine. We'll clean it all up."
"Because right now I feel a little bit like the time I didn't clean my apartment in college before I went home for Christmas break. And Christmas was almost ruined because I couldn't stop thinking about how I was going back to a messy apartment in January."
"Aw, come here. I want to tell you something about that." And Matt wrapped me in his arms.
"What," I mumbled against his shirt.
He kissed my head. "That is some bull shit," he said.
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