Grey Hearts and Flowers

Mother's Day

This is a little story I thought to write on Mother's Day. It's set during the same timeframe of this story, but is more like a separate little outtake. I will update the rest of gender reveal party shortly. Hope you enjoy this in the meantime! You have all been so wonderful to me. I so appreciate it! xox Ash

My life started the day after Mother's Day. Elliot, Mia and I had lunch with my parents that Sunday in May 2011—the 8th before the 9th—but I wasn't in the mood for celebrating. I never was. Grace made a comment as to which one of us would give her a grandchild first. Hands down, they all thought it would be Elliot by mistake. I knew it would absolutely never be me. I drove home that evening well before the others and went to bed alone. I woke up the same. I thought I liked quiet mornings, but looking back they were never really quiet. Quiet comes from peace; silence is deafening. It was a dreary, bleak, cold day that Monday after Mother's Day and it remained that way until a stumble at my door brought part to the clouds and noise to my world. And the following Mother's Day my wife would be a new mother to my son—Grace's first grandchild. What a difference a Mother's Day makes.

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"Shhh, be very quiet, we don't want to wake your mother," I say in a conspiratorial whisper as I carry Phoebe on my back down the stairs with Teddy in front of us. It's six o'clock on Mother's Day morning and we're on a secret mission—Operation Make Mommy Breakfast in Bed.

"Yeah, be shush Chester," Phoebe says, with a finger to her lips, to the little rodent sitting on her shoulder in a yellow polka dot jumpsuit and caterpillar slippers. Fitting— he looks pissed that anyone dared to drag him from his cocoon this early. I'm not quite sure why we did, but Phoebe assured me he has quality "cook boy" skills. The way he lives off Barbie, wears Versace leather, and dates around it's more like "fuck boy". Whatever the case, he better not shit a raisin on the oatmeal in revenge.

"Teddy, quit hopping down the steps!" I whisper yell as he takes them rabbit style. "You'll break your neck!"

"But, I hopped all of them down yesterday and my neck is still together."

"Well, if you walked a tight rope over Niagara Falls in a lightning storm and miraculously made it across within inches of your life, would you do it again?"

"Yeah, prolly," he shrugs. I shake my head. Why aren't my kids scared of anything? And although it means quadruple security and surveillance and strokes for Dad in their teen years, this fact makes me smile.

"So here's the game plan, troops," I say as we reach the kitchen. "Pancakes, bacon and English Breakfast tea—your mother's favorites." I have to smile remembering that first morning she made me pancakes. She was so cute dancing around in my shirt. I was painfully in love, even if I didn't know it myself at the time. I had a flash of hope that morning that she would dance like that, with me, forever. But, no way did I ever picture anything like this.

"I want to make Mommy gummy bear pancakes!" Phoebe says as I put her down to sit on the center island. "And then I'm gonna put the brown chocolate sprinkles for hair and blue Skittles for her eyes and red ones for her lip parts to make it smile up at her like it's saying 'happy to be your breakfast, Mommy'."

"That sounds lovely. But, how are you going to make all that stick?" I ask.

She scrunches her nose and thinks about it for a second, and then with all the assurance and confidence of a future CEO, comes to her decision—"peanut butter."