Baby, don't hurt me, don't hurt me no more. (I really can't say the above sentence without picturing Will Ferrell bobbing his head back and forth. If you didn't grow up in the 90s and don't know what I'm talking about, then I really can't help you.)
Loulie's class party was at school today. This created a dilemma since in my mind I had it on the calendar for Wednesday, that is until I finally read the class email Saturday night at 11:00 wherein the room mother explained that the class party was moved to Monday due to Ash Wednesday services at the church. Since Loulie originally suggested that we make our own Valentines that are orange with sprinkles (i.e. glitter) that shoot out and then it turns into a sticker, I asked her again Sunday morning what exactly she wanted to give as her valentine. She decided she wanted her "valentime" to be cookies shaped like a heart. Which is how I came to be standing at the counter at 12:15 on a Sunday night icing 50 homemade heart shaped cookies. And as I stirred that giant bowl of diabetic coma inducing sludge, I thought about the insane things we do at the request of our children (and how stupid I am for thinking this would only take 30 minutes).
Like the time my mother stayed up all night sewing me a dress to wear to my good guy friend's bar mitzvah the next day while also suffering through strep that had moved to her organs. I'm sure that was a real good time--I can barely make it up the stairs at 99.9 degrees, forget full body pain, sore throat and feverish. But finish she did! And did I feel like a young Kelly Kapowski in my fitted velvet shift dress with slightly puffed sleeves (again, if you are not a child of the 90s, I cannot help you with these references). I danced my tail off that night and held my own with my slightly more developed friends who could actually buy a dress off the rack without having to stuff or take the bust in six inches. No, I felt good in my homemade shift dress, completely clueless to my poor mother who probably launched herself into the bubonic plague finishing the hem. I don't know if I ever properly thanked her but I think it might have gone down like this...
When Loulie got up this morning and walked into the kitchen, her little mouth formed into a perfect O and after a brief pause and slight inhale exclaimed, "Oh mama, those are MAGNIFICENT!"
Love makes us do crazy things people.
P.S. Loulie Bug, if you are 35 and reading through your mama's old blog post, this would be a great time to weigh whether or not you should move me into your carriage house or ship me off to the nursing home. Just saying.
Happy week of love friends!
(and thank you Mom for the countless hours of lost sleep)