My girl card is about to be taken away. To me, a date on the calendar to celebrate love (February 14) or mothers (the second Sunday in May) or birthdays (for me, August 6) is not necessarily an excuse to shower me with presents. My family knows me so well.
Since today is Mother's Day, as with most holidays, we have a family traditional breakfast. Mr. Gaelic and the girls prepare eggs Benedict, hash browns, fruit salad, LeConte sunrise, and coffee. No gifts, no cards, only verbal wishes for a Happy Mother's Day. Except this year Deirdre, who has trouble saying things to me sometimes, gave me a card that expressed her appreciation for all I have done for her.
The rest of the day was picture perfect. An hour or so of working in my vegetable garden was followed by an extended manicure. Coffee, naptime, and a trip to the dog park with Baby, all with Mr. G, felt luxurious on a lovely spring day. When I retired to my boudoir with my laptop for some alone time, what was delivered to my room outdid everything else.
About to text message Mr. G to see what he was up to, his footsteps were heard on the stairs. Looking up as he opened the door, I noticed that he didn't have a load of laundry under his arm or a look of consternation on his brow from dealing with the kids alone. Instead he carried an antique martini glass by the stem. One bleu cheese-stuffed olive sat at the bottom of the clear liquid. His gift of making me a dirty martini was almost too much. My face lit up into the biggest smile possible and my profuse thanks delighted him.
A perfect way to end a perfect day.
*Mama said click here.
Music and Footsteps
19 hours ago