My birthday was earlier this week. It was a fun day because my kids are just old enough to understand the birthdays are really fun. (Did it hurt that I sang a silly song all Sunday about the next day being my birthday?)
My husband planned to make me one of my favorite dinners and a magnificent cake when he got home from work, but came home with an intense (and I mean, intense) headache. So instead we got take-out. (Bad take-out, like where the kids McDonald's cold french fries looked appetizing. But in an attitude that was cultivated in graduate school, we did not see the meal as a loss. Now we know we don't like this particular restaurant, and never have to wonder about it again.) After that, my husband and girls made me a super chocolate-y cake, and then went to wrap presents.
I got a lot of fun presents. Babs and Daddy had replaced the batteries in my watch. When I opened the present, she announced to me that they gave the watch to the man, and he fixed it. Kiddo got me gardening gloves, and a kneeling pad from my husband so I can get all the weeds up. I got fancy scissors from my parents, and a book. I got tickets to a play from my mother-in-law, and a fancy fruit arrangement from my sister-in-law. Plus a magazine subscription from my sister, and phone calls and texts from my brothers. Birthdays are nice like that.
As we were approaching the end of the presents, Babs came over and had me put my gloves on her hands. Then she started giving me lots of little kisses, all over my cheeks and nose. Really, is there much sweeter than toddler kisses? But she kept at it, for much longer than time than her attention span would suggest. She took my face in her ridiculously gloved hands, looked me in the eye, and said "Kisses for my Bullseye" kissed me one more time and ran off to play.
I know I'm a mom, because that was the best moment of the day.
