Rite of passage

It's Mother's Day.  (was I supposed to capitalize that?)

I didn't get flowers, or a gift, or a card or have the troops rallied around me to shower me with kisses and praises.   I did however, get eggs benedict, made by the most fabulous husband in the world.  The kitchen and all its dirtiness was taken care of by that same fabulous husband and then we went to church.  

My mother's day actually started yesterday when we went on a impromptu trip to the next town over, then forgot the one reason why we went (we were supposed to exchange an item for his mother but left it at the house. hah).  We decided to stop and eat somewhere since it was close to dinner time.  Best decision ever.  D scanned through his phone and found a place that served gyros.  Some of our all time favorite food.  But it was closed.  Lucky for us, the town was small and all of the restaurants were on the same strip.  Even more lucky for us there was a little town fair in progress so we ambled through.  Cute.

Being the mother of these two little rascals has put me through the ringer.   Both of my children have distinctive personalities that try me in different ways.  I'm still alive.  My rite of passage was given and passed.  My children make me better.  I love them unconditionally.  Truly I do.  But I digress.

Back to the tiny little town: The food.  This is where the fun and memories started.  It made me anxious for my children to grow older so I could see how we would all interact.  It was just funny!  Poor D was suffering miserably from allergies so our whole meal was punctuated with his sneezes and "excuse me"'s from the table as he ran to blow his nose.  Thank God he didn't stuff tissue up his nose...but I know he was close to it.  

The kids were in their regular form, a little cagey and disappearing at odd moments.  More than once that evening I found Roma down by my feet and Cylas peering over the booth to spy on the other patrons.  

Everything was funny to us.  But the ultimate was when D asked for a box to take our food.  And then told the busboy that it was for our chickens.  I was mortified.  Really?  The kid just stared at us hoping we were joking then smirked.   When he left, we both bust out laughing.

Danville will never be the same.  

The Kelbas came and left their silly little mark in the minds of those surrounding them that evening.  I'm just glad I'm a Kelba.