Mother's day

In a testament to how well my husband knows me, for Mother's day, he gave me sunflowers, chocolate and a gossip magazine. And then he made me breakfast in bed, alone, so I could watch a silly movie and read the gossip.

This was important because I accidentally drank a bottle of pinot grigio by myself the night before. I made pasta primavera for my husband's brother and his family, who flew in for the weekend, and my mother-in-law. The recipe called for pinot grigio. I opened the new bottle, added the cup or so, and the next thing I knew, dinner was over, the bottle was empty, and someone was asking me, maybe my brother in law?: Chris, did you drink that whole bottle? Apparently the rest of them were drinking beer and pinot noir.

I will tell you this about drinking that bottle: it was every bit as good as I thought it could be.

Brody, however, gave me the best gift of all the next day.

We tell Brody that we love him daily, at least twice a day. He rarely says it back. He'll say "I yuv you" if I ask him to do so. Or when I ask him, "Do you love mommy?" sometimes he says "yeah" and then gives me a hug. Sometimes, though, he teases me, and smiling, says "no!" until I tickle the truth out of him.

Then there was Friday night, when, in the middle of a group of strangers at a restaurant, Brody said in his loud little voice, "I yike yer boobies, mommy," while patting them.

Brody has said "I love you" to me once: spontaneously, voluntarily, of his own accord.

Then there was Mother's Day 2009.

Sunday night, in my mother -in-law's living room. There is a cacophony of family around us, and so many people in the living room that I am sitting on the floor next to Brody. There are 3 conversations going on at once, and even one person trying to read a book (?) in the middle of it. We had eaten dinner and it was getting close to when we had to leave to get B home to bed. B was alternating wrestling with his uncle and cousin, and playing with his pink motorcycle on the coffee table.

There was a little lull and it became slightly less loud. Out of the blue, Brody looked up from his motorcycle, turned to me and said, "I . . . . I love you so much, mommy." And then while I sat there with tears forming he continued, "Gimme a hug," and leaned into me with no fear I would not be there.

He said it twice more.

I hate crying in front of other people.

But I did.