Mothers day came and went this year with each of our children dropping by at some point or other during the week. Our wonderful children texted well wishes, brought hand-picked wildflowers and handmade cards and looked cute and child-like for a moment despite the fact that half of them are 6-feet-tall or taller.
This year, each one of them decided to gift us with heart attacks.
The oldest, G, checked in to let us know he had finished a four-page paper on the philosophy of the institute of religion for one of his college courses and was so proud of it, he wanted to bring it home for us to read. We listened to the news mouth agape. This was the child who, just three years ago, refused to finish high school and swore he'd never sit at a desk again. Now he's a full-time college student embroiled in his own education. Our Prodigal Scholar.
The next child, D, whom we've lately been worried about because he insisted on taking the year off after graduation and has had a difficult time finding work from the back seat of his car where he is living, came home bearing artwork (albeit questionable artwork) as a gift. Later that week he called to let us know he landed a job, would be moving into his own apartment within the month and no longer needed financial assistance to pay his car insurance. And by the way, he's making almost twice minimum wage.
Middle child, K, has always been our trouble maker. Like G, he rebels against authority, is argumentative and difficult to be around, yet so loveable and endearing when he is behaving. Despite his behavior issues, he is highly intellectual, and is testing out of high school this year and eagerly starting college in the fall. We only have three weeks left of school for him, but I still fully expect to get a last minute phone call, much like I did on the last day of school last year, letting me know that he has been banned from school grounds once again for insubordination, extortion or general mischief. To our great surprise and delight, he was the first of the children to call us Sunday morning to wish us a Happy Mother's Day. At 6 a.m. Because don't all middle-child mischief makers rise at the crack of dawn?
The youngest teen, IC, is our most forgetful and dreamy child. We thought no one could top D in the daydream department, but IC gives his older brother a run for his money. Teachers call him lazy, but I know better. It's not that IC doesn't listen to his teachers, so much as he sits there imagining his teachers are cloaked in dragon scales and breath fire, and he's just waiting for the day when he will don his cloak and raise his sword and vanquish those evil-doers who force him to do homework. The other day, IC followed Hubby around as Hubby picked a few roses from the garden and laid them on our pillows to suprise us ladies when we came home from work. IC asked him what he was doing, and Hubby answered, "When you grow up and you like a girl, you'll understand what I'm doing." We fully expected IC to forget the holiday, much like he tunes out birthdays and other important family events. In a twist of fate however, I came home on Friday before Mother's Day to a note in IC's handwriting that said, "Happy early Mother's Day Mom" and wilted but well-loved rose petals strewn about my bed.
Finally, the sweet, adorable baby of the family, C, who is a never-ending source of joy for us aging parents spent the first part of Mother's Day refusing to eat the wonderful breakfast his father made for his mother and me. When we adults banded together and told him he had to eat his eggs or go back to bed and start over, C, climbed down from his chair, harumphed down the hall beyond our sight, then screamed from the top of lungs, "Fuck you guys!" After we absorbed the shock of the three year old screaming obscenities at us (thank you older brothers), we burst out laughing. We weren't sure what else to do in the situation.