So when Little Missy went off this morning at 6:30 (having done the same at 1:30 and driven the Peeper out to the living room couch, which he did without demur - noble lad!) I staggered in, picked her up and transported her to Nirvana, or Mom-and-Dad's-bed, which comes to the same thing in Missyworld, there to drowse on into the early forenoon.
First Peeper, then Missy and then parents finally roused, sort-of, and were all lolling about in the family bed when Missy, lying on her tummy but coiled, like a puissant viper, launched herself and drove the top of her head into Mommy's face.Both children were sobered as Mommy flailed out of bed, hands to her lip muffling her cries of agony. We had a little session where I tried to teach Missy to say "Sorry, Mama". She didn't - she is very resistant to repeating the little phrases you say to her - but looked very chastened, and went and patted her mom where she sat in the kitchen icing her lip.
Then both kids had big poops.
Everybody is fine. Mojo is having her morning coffee, I'm down here recounting the morning to you, and the kids are playing with trains. But the gifts of the day have already been distributed. Motherhood: blood and shit.
There you have it. Like combat, except without artillery to add tone to the vulgar brawl.
To all you moms and non-mom moms: happy fucking mother's day.