the retrospective – a.k.a. how to put a positive spin on procrastination

I’ve been running abysmally late on everything for the past year, so it should come as no surprise to me (or anyone else for that matter) that I am just getting around to writing The Great Mother’s Day Post. Mother’s Day has never been a big ordeal for me as a mom. Usually it is spent honoring my own mother and my mother-in-law. This year, my mother-in-law’s back surgery and my mother’s work schedule provided an opportunity for the entire first half of the day to be spent with just my husband and children (and a few hundred other church goers for a few hours - if anyone is keeping track of statistics). Should you be one of the aforementioned statisticians, take note. You must subtract one of my children from your log books as he couldn’t be bothered to get dressed in time to leave the house (or even come down the stairs).

After church, the children decided to take me out to lunch (on their father’s dime, of course) to the only local non-fast-food restaurant with no waiting time, where we feasted to our hearts’ content on mediocre fare. After the meal, I was sent off to the seclusion of the automobile while the brood descended (with force) upon the nearby discount store. My eyes were duly averted until the homeward journey was accomplished whereupon I was gifted with multiple blessings.





Things started out on a traditional path. The abandoned sixteen year old had ridden his razor a mile and a half to the grocery store where he purchased a single rose (somewhat wilted from the return journey through un-seasonal heat). The girlchild proudly handed over a flower of a different sort.

I have often marveled at the offbeat style my children possess. They are not normal by any stretch of the imagination (though enough ordinariness adorns them in day to day life to present a somewhat convincing portrayal of sanity).





Spongebob puffed up his six year old chest with great pride and anticipation as he handed me the gift he had chosen.









The freckled one grinned as he surrendered his personal selection, chosen with great care and the whole of his eleven year old heart.







My little leprechaun practically leapt from his eight year old skin as he produced his offering.




The sly, almost hidden grin of The Instigator – age 14 – caught my periphery briefly before his token was revealed.







And alas, the pink one had yet another gracious honorarium.













It is, therefore, with great pride that I present to you
The Face of a Mother:











Of particular interest to me are the words upon the pink one’s final gift - not clearly visible in these blurry excuses for photography: "Catapults babies up to 15 feet! Note: Real babies should never be catapulted or thrown."