Mother’s Day. Blerg.

First of all, let me say that I have lost the USB cord to my camera.  I ordered a new one and it shipped on Monday, but the estimated arrival date… June 6th.  Did the mix up my address with one of their customers on Mars?!!  Come on!  In the age of Amazon Prime and Zappos, how does ANYTHING take three weeks to ship?

All that to say that we’re just going to have to go with iPhone pics.  Hopefully, with the help of some snazzy iPhone apps, it won’t be too much of a train wreck.

Now.  Let’s talk a little about Mother’s Day.  It’s a day that I’m conflicted about.  Don’t get me wrong– I love a day that brings all sorts of kid-crafted, construction paper goodness.  And with a three year-old and five year-old, I was BLESSED this year.

Can we just agree, though, that most of these little projects, crafted with love by little hands are designed to rip us to shreds humble us?

Take this little piece of goodness by the three year-old:

Sweet, huh?  I can make out a head, some arms, even a set of earrings.  Some might even call this a masterpiece.  But see that green?  On my face?  That would be boogers.  My sweet baby girl has entitled this “Mommy, Picking Her Nose”.

Presh.

Check out this sweet little book made by my kindergartener:

Harmless enough.  And it is shaped like a handbag, forcryingoutloud!  It even starts out so innocent and sweet.

I mean, 26. That’s what I’m talking about!  Don’t be deceived though.  It contains truth.  The ugly kind.

Now, this wasn’t a set up.  It was a perfect opportunity to for a sweet little boy to let his mommy know that he notices what’s important to her– reading books, singing silly songs to her children, dancing all crazy in the living room.  Or, you know, taking a nap.  Yep, Mommy is lazy.

And, how does this perfectly packaged self-esteem shredder end:

Dial up your nearest social worker, y’all, because Mommy forgets to buckle his seat belt.  With this prompt, is there any way for the to end on a high note?  I think not.

(Before you actually call DHR, please know that I do forget to buckle his seat belt about fifty percent of the time.  However, being the fine, upstanding citizen and obeyer of the law that he is– THAT I AM RAISING HIM TO BE– he alerts me and it’s buckled before we even pull out of the drive way.)

But there is no time to lick my wounds and nurse my delicate ego from the slaughter that we call Mother’s Day.  For I have need to hurry up and spend these beauties:

… I’m expecting a home inspection any day now.