You don't believe me? Well, that's your prerogative. But I know what I know, and besides, I have proof.
Like every other weekend morning, I was the first one awake in the house today. I got up and put the dogs out and fed the cat and make my tea and carried it into my dark study to do some writing. And when I tried to put the hot teapot down on the blotter, it clinked and shifted. I was startled, and a little irritated, thinking Robert had spread something out all over the desk and not cleaned it up. Sigh. But then I turned the light on, moved the teapot to a coaster, and found this:
|WE LOVE U|
So after a couple of hours of writing, I was told I should really go back to bed. (K is clearly going to be an excellent covert operative some day. He is superbly sneaky.) In came the gang with songs and a tray of breakfast and a card K illustrated:
So I could write three hundred thousand nine hundred and seven separate lengthy blog posts about the fine qualities of my children, but you might get eye strain or accuse me of bragging. And that would be a shame, because admiring my fantastic sons ought to be a national pastime. Or international - they do carry EU and USA passports, so that's two continents largely covered in the global quest to find the most admirable people in the world.
You'll just have to take my word for it. My kids? The best in the universe. But happy Mother's Day to all the mothers of imperfect children out there, too. I suspect that loving imperfect people is more of a challenge, parenting-wise, than I ever have to face, so I salute you all. And if you ever see me accuse either boy of being less than perfect, well, just remind me of what I said here today. My kids are the best in the universe.