1/2 an umbrella. They say it’s an entire umbrella, just really small; but I have my doubts.
1 nightgown. Perfectly acceptable. My children understand that sleep makes me happier than almost anything else.
1 unidentifiable gardening-type carrier… thing. Tags removed; mystifying. It has snaps in weird places. Is it meant to be worn? Hung? Attached… somewhere? No one seems to know. (The ex: “Well it’s for your gardening, um, stuff. I think.”)
1 card made at school where “Happy Mother’s Day Mama” had been pencilled by a teacher, than traced over painstakingly with wobbly blue marker.
5 pieces of fusilli glued to paper and backed by a magnet. Cuz nothing says Mother’s Day like pasta you can stick to the fridge.
4 english muffin halves with triple berry swirl cream cheese. They said they’d share with me. They lied. I went to church hungry.
3 carnations. One in every color. One for each of us.
2 major spills. (“Why did you have a cup of water in the playroom, anyway?” “I was thirsty. Duh.”)
942 buttons pushed. So. Tired.
1 migraine. (The umbrella wasn’t a whole lot of consolation, but the hugs and kisses helped a little.)