Bonne Fête des Mères

paper art, coffee machine and sausage
It’s Mother’s Day Eve in France and the kids are a gigglebundle of excitement with the things they prepared at school.  As a family, everyday is Mother’s day.  Everyday is Father’s day.  I’ve always squinted an eye at Hallmark for trying to bank a sale each year for these sacred events.  I suppose I’ll grow into Mother’s day and damn my kids for not calling me and what the heck are they doing with their life and why haven’t they called me??!!  For now,  with my four young kids, it’s fun.  They scamper around finding endless ways to grab attention with luxurious gifts made of paper.  Gifts that are priceless to me as each one is a Picasso or Rothko or a Lovelace.  In France, the children generally prepare a memorized poem that ends with an embarrassed but accomplished smile sealed with a kiss.  And as you hold your coffee in bed with your right eye opened, prepared by Mademoiselle Rowenta(nice call, bizzyella), served by Clémentine and supported by Lucy and Otto (sleep, Zélie, sleep),  you get a little misty eyed because these days are golden.  Kids this age love you.  They love you so much.  They work hard on finding the perfect thing for you with the means they have.  They can’t help but deliver it early.  Like Otto, who worked for many, many minutes supplying me with this most amazingly stocked handbag.  It has a brush.  It has a gun.  It has a scary monster snowflake.  It has things you wouldn’t understand unless you knew Otto and then you’d know that he’s right.  A paper, shadow puppet chicken is EXACTLY the thing you need in your new, fully equipped handbag.  Of course it comes with a crown which I wore for hours today while we cleaned up Lucy’s room for our visitors.  I hung it up next to my well hung sausage.  The card on the outside says, “For You.”  Aaah.  I just love my little peanut gallery.  They are a TOTAL pain, but these qualities will serve them well in life.  I support their tendencies.  I unblock their ventures.  They ask too many questions.  They find too many answers.  There is no  boredom in this house.  So Happy Mother’s Day to you mama’s out there doing that mama thing ( or doing that mama thing even though you’re like a daddy or an older sibling or a grandma or a broody chicken ).  I honestly don’t know what this day means other than, “hey.  you’re keepin’ them alive and keepin’ them keepin’ on.”  Word to your mother.  I’m outty.

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