The kids enthusiastically woke me up this morning for my HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY FEAST!!!!! (That’s how loud they yelled it in my ear!) Bill must have been cooking all morning and I didn’t hear a thing as I slept in until they woke me up at 8:00.
The best part was this poem that Bill printed out and the kids signed:
“Real Mothers”
Real Mothers don’t eat quiche; they don’t have time to make it.
Real Mothers know that their kitchen utensils are probably in the sandbox.
Real Mothers often have sticky floors, filthy ovens and happy kids.
Real Mothers know that dried playdough doesn’t come out of shag carpet.
Real Mothers sometimes ask “why me?” and get their answer when a little voice says, “I love you best mom” and “I want mommy to check on me!”
Real Mothers know that a child’s growth is not measured by height or years or grade……..it is marked by the progression of Mama to Mommy to Mother.
And….this is Weston’s “poochie-lip disease” when Bill told him to stop eating all of my food!
