peevish mama

This was a Mother’s Day I will not soon forget. It was the Mother’s Day that fell five weeks into my sentence on crutches, the Mother’s Day I wasn’t feeling like much of a mother. Notwithstanding everything, my little family rallied around me and made me feel like a queen. A lucky, lucky queen with some ridiculously cute constituents. I got glazed donuts and hot coffee for breakfast. I got painted frames and water colored cards. I got little pots of flowers and a gift certificate to Cliché. I got hugs and sloppy kisses. I got a picnic in the Rose Garden, some time to lounge on a blanket in the sun, watch them play through sleepy, slit eyes, and breathe Spring. Best of all, I got a little concerto in the basement at the end of the day. They played piano for me in their pajamas, their hair still wet from their baths. Saint James wrote me a song called Rain. It was short and beautiful and pierced my heart like an arrow.