Being as it’s the Monday after a holiday, what better time to commemorate it via blog?
Happy Monday after Mother’s Day, you guys.
My day was spent sleeping in until 8:45 a.m. (!!!) and then getting treated to brunch down the street. A few things: the kids probably would’ve let me sleep even later than that, but my body clock fully acknowledged that any later than that would’ve felt like the shank of the day. And yes, parents “brunch” at 9:30 a.m. And no, chopping the food and wiping the noses for three brunch dates under the age of six isn’t the mimosa-fest you’d imagine.
But it was a very good day. There were gift cards for one-on-one dates with my children, there was artwork for the wall, and there was a new external hard drive for the Mac. (YAAAAY!) P.J. asked what I had wanted to do with the weekend, and put on an awfully brave face at my response: Gut closets and storage areas and make gigantic piles for donations. But he was game, and we all went to town. (And by that I mean we did not go to town. We stayed largely in the lower level.) And maybe it’s P.J.’s German efficiency, but that boy can sort. (And haul and stack and make hard decisions about Barbie accessories.) My desk now has the ability to be opened and closed at will, my closet is a Happy Zone, the kids can actually see what they’re about to play with, and I successfully incorporated my Dad’s gigantic record collection into artfully curated sections on my favorite bookshelf. (The one, coincidentally, right next to the turntable.)
After the kids went to bed, there was sushi and Riesling and an episode of The Soup just prior to an early bedtime. So, whatever naysayers, you can have it all.
Please ignore the part of the bedroom wall that appears to be falling off. I mostly assure you that it is not.
I’m lucky to have these three flying monkeys for my very own. I’m lucky that their Dad thinks this game of How Many People Can We Fit Into A Queen-Sized Bed is a fun one. And I’m lucky to have a Mom of my own who forwards and shares every little thing I’ve ever written, readily admits that anyone who fights me/fails to hire me is beyond stupid, and who has a sixth sense about when I need my favored Armenian meals. (Spoiler: It’s every time I go home.)
So happy Monday after Mother’s Day to me. And to the terrific collective of women who’ve mothered me- and my children- along the way (like, this week). But especially to my Mama, Deb Flynn, whose scale of love for me is in no way affected by the social media platforms on which I declare my daughterly gratitude.
I mean, it doesn’t hurt, but who’s really keeping score?
Speak Your Mind