Ivie's class wrote books for their mothers for Mother's Day, and Ivie delivered hers to me on Friday as we were driving to Hickory to visit Grandma. I admit to almost breaking down into tears as Dale read it to me (since I, as usual, was driving).
Now, before you read any further, I feel compelled to make clear that I'm not totally naive about how this process works. I'm certain Ivie's teachers encouraged her to be positive in her comments and steered the drafting process accordingly. Which meant she had to avoid mention of the things about me that she doesn't really care for, like when she gets her bottom spanked, or when she is grounded from her bicycle for not listening, or when her "mean" mommy won't let her and Macie camp out on their bedroom floor on a school night (a request that, for the record, I finally gave in to Tuesday night), or when her daddy and I call her "duck face" when she's pouting.
But regardless of how much thought-editing was necessary to make the book appropriate for gifting, I will choose to believe that these things really ARE what come to Ivie's mind when she thinks about her mommy. And someday when you're reading this, Ivie, I want you to know and always remember that even though life isn't always a box of chocolates around here, it's the goofy and crazy fun times that I remember the most. I thank God every day for the honor of being your mother.
Now. Enough of the sappiness. Let's go make some macaroni and follow it up with some strawberry shortcake. My specialties. (Apparently.)