I was cheering Carson on in t-ball last night when Mary Grace asked (in an all-too-nonchalant manner might I add), “When are you going to die, mommy?”  Seriously, it was in the same sort of tone a kid would ask, “What’s for dinner tonight?”  Mildly curious but mostly unaffected.  Happy mother’s day week to me.

And as if that were not precious enough, there’s this:

Tucked into Carson’s daily folder was this sweet little picture of our family.  MINUS HIS MOTHER.  That woman who, oh you know, GAVE BIRTH TO HIM and meets his every need. MIA from the kindergarten family portrait.  Curious, I asked, “Sooo.  Where was mommy in this picture?”  Carson responded, “I couldn’t figure out how to dress you, mom.  You wear those black pants a lot (read: yoga pants. awesome.), but I didn’t think those would look right in the picture.  So I left you out.”

WHAT?  Not only is my daughter casually chatting about my demise, but now my six year old has dropped me out of the picture because I live in exercise apparel?  The love- it’s palpable around here, I’m telling ya.

Thankfully, there was a moment of redemption this afternoon when Carson interrupted the chaos of his two crying sisters by yelling, “Girls, stop!  Mommy is doing the best she can!  Look!  She’s doing the BEST SHE CAN!!  So stop screaming at her!”

YES.  That.  Daydream about my demise?  Weird, but whatev.  Leave me out of the family picture?  Feelings not hurt.  But shout to the world that your mama’s just doing the best she flippin’ knows how?  That screams “happy mother’s day week” to me.