My Mother’s Day card from Matthew – dictated to his teacher – read, “I love you. I want you to play Legos every day with me. And I want you to eat chocolate! Love, MTTHEW.” Matthew had written his name but skipped the A to “save room.” When I thanked him for the card, I just casually mentioned the missing letter A. He said, “Oh, no, Mom, that wasn’t me. Mrs. Morris forgot the A. She doesn’t know how to spell Matthew.” Uh.huh. There sure is a big difference in the handwriting between the note part and the name part!

We had a good day yesterday. The highlight was going to the Storybook Theater production of ‘Hansel and Gretel.’ They do a phenomenal job there of making it age appropriate for the kids but also VERY funny for the parents. My parentals and bro, Chris, also joined us for the festivities that were followed by dinner at the Olive Garden (when you’re there, you’re family!). We ‘beat the crowd,’ arrived early and only had to wait…a full hour! By the time we were seated at 5:30, the people behind us were in for an hour to an hour and a half long wait. During our wait time, we noticed that Zachary was acting a little odd – very quiet and reserved and not at all ‘himself’. Once we got to the table, Zach was saying that he had a tummy ache.

As you know, we are a pukey people and have a history of vomiting in restaurants. We haven’t yet christened the Olive Garden, so maybe it was time. We were all – somewhat – on the edge of our seats just praying that Zach would not, in fact, demonstrate puke-rotechnics on the table. It was a little tense. Who says we’re not adrenaline junkies? We like to live on the edge, man.

Thankfully, the breadsticks seemed to revive him a bit and all was well…until Matthew slouched down and said, “I don’t feel so well. I’ve got an icky tummy.” Seriously?!! Mike took him to the bathroom which proved fruitless. Meanwhile, the rest of us shoveled our food frantically. Mike – who can eat twice as much as me in half the time – was done with his meal, so he packed up the boys and headed home with them (I’d ride to our house with the ‘rents). With the departure of the puke-boys, I sat back, breathed a sigh of relief and finished my glass of wine.

When we got home, Mike greeted us at the door. I could tell by the look on his face that something pukey had gone done. The questions were: who? when? where? It was Matthew – who does tend to take after me and be the pukiest. Outside the restaurant, amidst the throngs of people waiting, clutching desperately to their little blinkers, hoping in vain that those little lights would blink and it would vibrate like crazy announcing that finally – at long last – their table was ready and their arduous wait was over, Matthew announced again, “I don’t feel good.” Mike said, he asked him, “Do you need to throw-up?” Matthew nodded.

Mike somehow managed to get them all around the corner and to the bushes – just beyond the sight of the waiting Mothers and Mother’s Day-out-to-eaters. Mike said he tried calling me, but really, what would I have done anyway? The puke was already in the bushes – a fine place for puke if you ask me. I’ve even puked in the bushes at Disneyland before! (Yes, see how this is a family business?!) So, while I sat in the restaurant slowly sipping my Merlot, Mike was sweating bullets the whole drive home praying that no one puked in the backseat. Not having to deal with that, was perhaps the best Mother’s Day present of all.