A few days ago, Joe said, "Mama, did you know you are the luckiest woman in the world?" I've often thought that for a variety of reasons I am very lucky indeed, but not knowing specifically what he was referring to, I asked him why. "Because your birthday is only two days after Mother's Day," he answered. Hmm. The proximity of the celebrations of a lifetime commitment to anxiety and servitude and that of the swift passing of time and my impending mortality—not something that would have occurred to me....
But this morning when I woke up, I felt very lucky, because there were two beautiful cards waiting for me on my night table. One was big and pink and decorated with glitter glue, foam shapes, and cut-out hearts with vocabulary words on them. It's lovely and I'm thinking that every mother of Mrs. Callahan's first graders has something similar. The other card, however, was unique. It's a postcard with a photo of a dog; on the back Joe had written: "For a mom so swweat and nice, our little puppy is your present, for a happy Mother's Day and a sihn of love." My heart melted. What could be a better gift? He did it all by himself; Henry didn't even know he was planning it.
Actually, I did know Joe was going to make a card of some sort, because last week he left a note for his confidante and advisor, the tooth fairy, asking what he should give me for Mother's Day, and she recommended this plan. But I had no idea it would be so sweet.
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