One Thousand Gifts . . .

It was my first Mother's Day.  1989.  Married less than a year with my stomach swollen around the growing love inside me. 

Months before I had been sick, trouble holding even water down.  With headaches that made me tug at my hair to ease the pain.  He would leave mornings for work with me in the bathroom and he would come home evenings with me still on the floor of the bathroom, curled up in its corner of that first apartment of ours.

But she fluttered and moved and I surrendered to a love like no other.

And on that first Mother's Day he brought me a camera.  I remember the kiss.

There have been flowers and cards and food and little teabags in envelopes and gifts and breakfast in bed and a t-shirt with my first baby's handprints and hugs and kisses.

And three other surrenders.

And this year there was this.

A chocolate cake with fudge filling and buttercream icing.  Made by you know who, with the fondant  painted by Izzy.  Real flowers on top - my favorite, tulips - in my favorite color.

Two handmade cards worth Hallmark's stock and more.

I know my children well.  And right back at me they know me equally well. 

They know what satisfies not only my sweet tooth - but my heart as well.

My gratitude list continues . . .

a day to celebrate mothers

tulips

handprints

singing prayers

rechargeable flashlights

"dadde, today I was a genpleman when I open door for Mommy"

planning with friends

kids laughing in the pool

a friend's tea

a sister's visit

banners

opaque projectors

the cool side of the pillow

my mama

"roses on my shoulder, slippers on my feet . . ."

My list, #'s 650-665.

No Title Necessary

It's too quiet in the house so I can't sleep.  I have four children and only one is home.  Even the middle of the night can feel off balance.

So, I did this one time before here, and I'm gonna do it again.

Because one day when only one bed in this home is occupied I want to read this and remember when times were better - or at least more interesting.

When I picked up tonight before bed this is what was on my living room floor.

three toy story martians

one chicken feather

three marbles

hot glue gun strands

one water gun and one bubble gun

wet dog ball

cake crumbs

Izzy's robe

Max's polar bear slippers

one pillow pet

one google eye

a one-eyed bald no arms orange puppet

lots of little cut up paper pieces - an attempt to make an eye

pile of sand?

extension cord

pirate hat

his dirty socks

spiderman

and lastly . . .

one cocoa puff - which I gingerly poked at 'cause it easily could have been poop - dog or human four year old boy

and you thought when I blogged again I'd say something deep and meaningful.  something profound and intelligent.  something actually worth reading.

fooled 'ya.

And He Was Gone

I rose from the bed and stumbled into the kitchen to drown my first bottle of water.

I crinkled up and sniffed - my nose smelled something beginning to be bad.

I know this in my I've smelled things before that begin and end bad kind of way.  Only a mama kind of way.

My nose is an expert.  Age may be claiming some of my sense of hearing and seeing, but my nose is compensating.

It smelled bad, I poked my head in a room and sniffed.  I decided the birdcage needed cleaning and dragged her out of bed to do it now.

It wasn't the birdcage, but I'm afraid you won't believe me if I tell you what it was.

Now turned into an hour later and I sat that cage - with the bird still in it - on the front porch.

Sandra and Emily came and friends and webkinz occupied my girl's time and I continued to sniff and wonder why is it still lingering in the house?

Time right now for the cleaning I announced in my best Don't You Dare Put This Off Another Minute mama's voice.

Do you ever think that there are times that you should not have to spell everything out to then discover that you should have not only spelled it out but yelled it out?

And there he flew.  The beautiful cockatoo that had his need for a wing clipping put off just one day too late.

Into the wild blue yonder.  And he was gone.

Few days later Sandra called to say that there had been a woodpecker in her bedroom that morning.  Brought in by the cat.  The fire department came and rescued it, took pictures, and released it back into its home. 

Maybe my bird and her bird have met up, exchanged horror stories, and mated for life.  One can hope.

And the smell?  Pig's blood.  Discovered only after it got past really bad.

Don't ask, cause . . .

That's all I have to say about that.  Name that movie.