As I was frantically sending out emails to my older sister and my brother-in-law this past week, and poking Richard to do the same with his sisters, I noted that there were times when I wished that some of us lived farther away from our parents than we do. Not that I don’t like spending time with either my parents or my in-laws, since actually, they’re all fun to hang out with, but the simple fact of the matter is that with my mom, Richard’s mom, my brother-in-law’s mom, and the fact that my sister is a mom too, that meant that somehow we had to figure out how to schedule Mother’s Day for four separate moms. Toss in choir practice, followed by recorder group practice and then church and things can get awfully complicated. Not too mention exhausting.

Somehow we managed to get everything all worked out, although there were brief moments of panic as I suddenly remembered this morning that I had forgotten to pick up the corsage I ordered for my mom last night…and the florist was not open today. Luckily the florist at the local grocery store was open so while I was trying to remember the fingering for F-sharp on the tenor recorder, Richard very nicely stood in a long line with a lot of other frazzled-looking men and managed to procure a corsage.

My older sister came down with her family for lunch and gifts were exchanged. My mom is a big fan of John Deere tractors so when I spotted a John Deere tractor salt and pepper set a few months back I knew it was the perfect gift. Plus I’d found a lovely card for my sister that wasn’t the least bit snarky (okay, I’m ducking now – hee hee).

My mom, sister and I sat around and chatted a bit, trying to coordinate plans for next week, when my younger sister is coming down with the world’s most adorable niece, while the guys (Richard, my brother-in-law, and the almost-5 nephew) stretched out on the floor to play several marathon rounds of Hi Ho Cherry-o. And then Richard and I checked our watches and zipped off for round two of the Mother’s Day fun – dinner with his parents and youngest sister at Benihana’s. There were gifts. There was garlicky fried rice and shrimp. There were threats of plum cheesecake (pardon me while I shudder yet again at the thought) which were thankfully thwarted and replaced with offers of ice cream, and then, most amusingly of all, as we were just getting ready to leave, the waiter handed gift certificates to all the women at the table who appeared to be of child-bearing years, without once asking if we were mothers or not.