Pancakes and Foot Rubs

I spent this Mother's Day on the road delivering a new kitten to my sister, who's had to deal with the terrible sadness of losing two pets within two weeks of each other. We met in the middle between where we both live, which meant a six-hour drive for both. For me, it was six hours with two kids and a kitten (and a husband, but he's usually pretty easy to travel with).

The good news? She brought my mom, so I actually got to spend this Mother's Day with her. Sure, I didn't get to lounge about in my bathrobe, ordering both children and the spouse to bring me things, make me pancakes and rub my feet. But it was great to get to let my mom order me to bring her pancakes and foot rubs (which, of course, she doesn't do).

The Thursday before Mother's Day, Jack's preschool offered the obligatory "Mother's Day Tea," which doesn't come with tea, and the moms had to supply the cookies and snacks (it's what we do, right?). But as my little bright-eyed boy mouthed the words to "Te Amo, Mommy," I felt hot tears stream down my cheeks. Embarrassed, I looked to the mom next to me, who also had hot tears streaming down her cheeks. It was comforting to know that I wasn't the only sap in the pre-K room.

The final coup in my Mother's Day offerings was Jack's handmade gift, beautifully wrapped in tissue paper and delivered to me from his excited little hands. It was an apron, covered in his 4-year-old interpretation of flowers (complete with smiley faces), inspired by Monet, his teacher told me.

OK, it didn't come with foot rubs, and I don't cook, but I do like flowers with smiley faces. And the husband, bless his heart, bought me a gift certificate for, you guessed it, foot rubs.