Date: Mother's Day, the late 1970's.
Place: Suburban Chicago.
Time: Early Morning.
While other mothers were festooned with corsages and wooed with brunch, Mother's Day found my mom crawling through the house, following a trail of yarn that led to our paltry gifts. My sister and I had unfurled skeins and skeins of yarn, over and under and through furniture legs and lamps. We thought it was such fun. All the poor woman must have wanted was her coffee, or to be back in bed. But she was a good sport. She always was, with us.
Place: Suburban DC
Time: Early Enough
I'm pleased to report that Greg and Baby C had the good sense not to follow my childhood example. Instead, I awoke to classical music playing, and Greg bringing me my first-ever breakfast in bed! It was lovely and relaxing for a minute, until Baby C wanted to share. Conveniently, she used the sheets as both bib and napkin. Ah, well, it was still sweet.
As I yawned and expressed my gratitude, Greg said, "Sorry for waking you up, but I thought I heard you walking around. Guess it was just the cat using the litter box."
Happy Mother's Day.