Mother's Day

My New York Times subscription is off to a rocky start. Last Sunday was the first delivery - the paper was missing the book review and the magazine. After a few phone calls to very nice New Yorkers, I received a new paper, but still no inserts. The book review and magazine were supposed to be delivered during the week via UPS, but alas, they are back ordered, en route. However, yesterday I received two papers - both copies included a book review and magazine. I said goodbye to my parents with a copy of the paper tucked in their bag.



I hope they don't mind that picture for y'all to see, but weren't they cute? That is not the best picture of me, either, if that makes them feel better. They were handsome and beautiful and still are to this day. My brother and I were not too bad ourselves during his senior year of high school and look fabulous today, if I do say so myself. My parents were the perfect people to break in the guest bed and bath and you can barely tell they were here.



Well, in that room anyway. Downstairs there is plenty of evidence. See, even though it was Mother's Day weekend, my Mom arrived bearing gifts, very true to her nature. She gave us several housewarming gifts: a chocolate brown basket, blonde bamboo planter, my Grandmother's cobalt blue glass pitcher and drinking glass set, a bamboo plant (excellent for indoor air quality), a pretty green pitcher, and several blue glass items for our kitchen.









My brother gave my Mom a beautiful bouquet of flowers and she even left behind a purple sprig in that blue glass jar. I gave her a box full of vanilla toiletries and one gift for both of my parents: a Bread of Life Scripture box.



I must admit I purchased one for myself off eBay, too. Almost every morning of my growing up life as we sat down to breakfast, my brother and I would each read aloud a card imprinted with a Bible verse. The little loaf of bread we used was from my Dad's childhood - his parents' set - and it is somewhere in my parents' house, I'm sure. But just in case, I wanted them to have a new set and know that I appreciated the morning ritual which Johnny and I plan to do with our own kids. Until then, the novelty of a ceramic bread loaf cheers me up each day and I'm never too old to read a Bible verse.

The weekend was quite eventful. My parents joined me at the farmers' market on Saturday morning and met Wendy Reed, the kind "honey lady." I managed to buy my Mom a jar of Wendy's beeswax furniture polish, orange blossom lip balm, and cinnamon creamed honey. Wendy also gave my Mom a free beeswax pillar candle just because my Mom is that likable (this kind of thing happens often). Then my Mom broke the rules and insisted on purchasing for me: two cartons of local blueberries, a bag of local peaches, and a tin of cheesesnaps made at The Center. My Dad tried raw goat's milk Kefir (by his own choice, I might add) and said it was OK, but would taste better in a smoothie. I was impressed because goat Kefir is a bold first choice in natural beverages. He also remarked that the farmers' market was exactly the type of venue in which his grandparents would have sold their wares, so it must be in my blood.

My brother came over for a house tour later that day before we all had dinner at Chili's. I was proud of my jaw for chewing salmon and steamed broccoli - almost the whole fillet of salmon before any fatigue. While walking back to our cars, we passed under diminutive trees full of twittering birds, laughing at my funny parents. Then I felt something liquid in my hair and I reached back to find icky white bird poop on my hair, shirt, and hand. I exclaimed, "Did a BIRD just poop in my hair?!" Johnny said, "A bird shat in your hair!" My Mom told me later that she had never seen my brother laugh so hard which is an accomplishment on my part. And I could not stay mad for too long because, well, what can you do? I said, "I've had f___ing TMJ all week and now bird poop?" I heard my Dad say, "Why did a bird have to poop on little Jenni?" Luckily my brother had napkins in his pocket and Johnny cleaned me up. I found the tragedy ironic since I love birds so much. Everyone poops.

My brother drove to work and the rest of us went back to the house. My Dad and husband went to bed on time, but my Mom and I stayed up talking and laughing until 3:30 am; she is a bad influence. We didn't actually put our heads on pillows 'til 4:00 and the next morning, I kept pressing snooze until it was too late for me to get ready for Church on time. Johnny went to help lead music and his naughty wife stayed home, just once. I do not recommend such behavior, but extra time with my Mom was worth it - you have not laughed until you have laughed with my Mom.