Happy Mother’s Day to all of you who have that wonderful but thankless job of parenting. I have a teen and a tween, and the tsunami-esque hormones that flood through our house on any given day often leave me grasping for the nearest life preserver; usually my husband or a bottle of wine. He was armed and ready today with roses and a bottle of red in case there were any ruffled feathers to smooth or any unintentional snubs to soothe. My stormy tween bought me a lovely gift which brought me to tears, only to revoke it two days later at our next head butting session, which brought me to even more tears. My teen now has a girlfriend and I know that she was mostly responsible for the very first store-bought mother’s day gift I received today; bless her heart!
All in all it was a great day, waking up to snow on the fields and on the roof, the horses unexpectedly put in the barn last night were extra eager to get out to their grass this morning. Tom made breakfast biscuits that Martha Stewart would be proud of and we drove through the beautiful rolling countryside talking and pointing out which beautiful estates we would gladly accept and which ones we would turn down; which lovely porches we would like to add to our house (mostly Tom), and which barns and indoor riding arenas we would like to have out back (definitely all me). Tom, being a photographer, likes to hang out the car window while driving on narrow hilly roads and snap pictures left and right while I cling to the passenger door narrowly scraping past those roadside country mailboxes, until he sees something he really likes then stops smack in the middle of the road and lines up a really good shot. Usually at this point we are directly in front of some very beautiful old farmhouse whose occupants I’m sure are standing in their kitchen with their morning cups of coffee wondering why there is a red Toyota parked on the road out front and paparazzi-like lens pointing in as if on some Brangelina sighting. Now I’m generally scrunched down so far on the front seat with embarrassment in order to give the impression that such a loony stalker is working alone and in no way would have a nice respectable wife riding with him. We arrived back home without incident or buckshot in the trunk, and some very nice pics from which to do a few paintings.
Tom made a fantastic roast and it was great to have us all at the table for a wonderful dinner. It couldn’t have been a nicer day, and yes Tom, you are the goodest husband that ever lived.
