Mother’s Day

Yesterday, my sweet four-year-old ran into my room while I was getting dressed and presented me with this:

 

 

There’s nothing quite like receiving gifts while you’re naked.

 

I love it, and I’m so glad that Tony has finally come around to understanding that what I want on Mother’s Day (and my birthday, and Christmas), more than anything, is a gift.  Pretty gifts are excellent.  Thoughtful gifts are great.  Funny gifts are wonderful.  The actual expense is not important.

 

In addition to the bracelet, I only had to prepare two meals (instead of the usual Sunday three), we got to have a nice little jaunt to Bellingham to visit with friends and eat burgers (and possibly pretend to eat their beautiful girl-children’s chubby cheeks) and shop for books, my dad and brother came to dinner (homemade pizza, which Jamie adorably calls “pee-paa!”), and Tony suffered through watching Pitch Perfect with me.

 

It was just about the best Mother’s Day ever, but there was one sad note.  This guy got a fever and is home from school today:

 

 

He sure is miserable.