Mom's Muffin Morning

"It's Mom's Muffin Morning!" my darling son exclaimed today. For a moment, I was touched by his thoughtfulness, until I realized he was excited because there'd be donuts. (He'd sell his soul for a donut.)

But the morning's event went swimmingly, much smoother than in years past. My friend Liz complimented Mark, saying, "I can't believe he stayed with you the whole time!"

I smiled, recalling the last muffin day fiasco. To avoid a repeat, I'd prepped Mark intensely before we even left the house.

"What are we celebrating?" I asked.

"You," he sighed. He started to roll his eyes, then noticed the steely silence in the room. "You!" he repeated, more enthusiastically.

"And why am I taking time off work today?" I grilled.

"To have breakfast," he said.

"With...?"

"Me," he answered. He's learned it's easier to suffer through an hour-long breakfast than a whole weekend of angry consequences for ignoring me in public.

"Good," I said. "And of course, the penalty for misbehaving or running off during breakfast is...?"

"I know, I know," he sighed again. "Penalty of death. Eat breakfast with you or die. I know!"

And so we went off to celebrate. Mark acted wonderfully, and was a perfect little gentleman. My heart swelled two sizes with pride.

After breakfast, we visited his classroom. Mark pushed his way past all the tables, and ended up at a solitary desk at the front of the room. It was right next to the teacher, pushed up against (and facing) the chalk board. I immediately smiled, because I knew exactly what that meant.

"Let me guess, you got moved again for talking during class?" I asked.

"Some girl was talking to me," Mark frowned. (He always gets moved because someone else was talking.)

"You better stop talking," I told him. "Or your next stop is outside!"

We watched a video of kids singing "You Lift Me Up," by Josh Groban, and then a montage of teacher's photos with their moms. My tough exterior melted, leaving behind a gushy, teary mess. As tough and strict as I try to be, I'm a sucker for emotional moments like that.

The teacher had the kids introduce their moms and say what they like about them. Mark went first.

"That's my mom," Mark said, pointing to me.

"What's her name?" the teacher prompted.

"Uh...Heather?" Mark said.

"And what do you like to do with your mom?" he asked.

"Play catch with the football," Mark answered. I giggled inside, because the football's too big for my little hand, and it wobbles uncontrollably when I throw it...which is probably why Mark likes playing catch with me, because it's funny!

The next activity was painting spirals using cool-colored paints. Mark and I worked together, creating an elaborate spiral, and I noted how relaxing it was to paint.

"Kind of like coloring, huh?" Mark said. I nodded--I never realized how calming it is to color with crayons until I got Mark!

The last activity was poetry. The kids all read poems they'd written for their moms, using the letters in their mom's name. Cue the tears, because they were filled with love and sweetness, proclaiming their undying love and gratitude to their moms, each of whom were deemed "the best mom in the whole wide world."

I couldn't wait to hear Mark's, but he was reluctant. He shook his head, whispering he'd read it at home. But I had to go to work, and I wanted to hear it! Finally, slowly, he stood and read it.

It wasn't as sentimental as some, but I loved it anyway. And I loved the toothy grinning sun accompanying it.



That's right, people. I do take it to the hoops! (Whatever that means.) But not sure I'm am as happy to be easy as pie... ;-)

Mom's (Non) Muffin Morning

Today was Mom's Muffin Morning at Mark's school. It's a wonderful chance for moms and kids to share breakfast while being serenaded by the middle school orchestra, followed by a trip to the classroom, where the moms help their loving offspring paint masks. (Don't worry, Dads got their day back in November.)

Well, wonderful for most moms, anyway. For Mark, there's absolutely nothing more embarrassing than being in public with his mom. I could defend his behavior as a natural part of growing up, or asserting his independence and transitioning to a teenager, but I won't; the truth is, sometimes he's just a big ol' brat. Today was one of those times.

I could sense the winds shifting toward brattiness, so I prepped him before leaving the house. I told him this was a special day, and I expected polite, respectful behavior. His eyes glazed over, so then I spoke the language he responds to most often -- threats. I promised to kiss him all over and call him "Mommy's wittle bitty baby" in front of everyone if he did not cooperate. He shaped up pretty quickly at that!

We walked to school, and I again reminded him to behave. He reiterated his promise to do so.

And behave he did. Right up until we walked through the school gates, and he said, "Bye, I'm going to play." He started to dart off, but I expected this, and grabbed his arm before he could flee. There were tons of moms around, so I reminded him again, nicely, that we were going to get muffins.

He squirmed away and said, "I'm not hungry. Bye!"

Again, I helped him back into line.

But he was determined to win. "Fine," he said, acidly. "I have to go to the bathroom then." He turned to march away, dodging and smirking at me. Once again, I grabbed his arm to lead him back to the line. I still thought we might succeed.

Until he opened his mouth and squealed, "OWWW, YOU'RE HURTING ME!! WHY DO YOU HURT ME EVERY CHANCE YOU GET??"

And, cut away from the muffin line. This time I didn't bother speaking, I just pulled him out of line under the gaze of a hundred appalled mothers. I led him to the wall where I ordered him to sit down immediately.

"You are done," I told him. I turned away from him, fuming, and told myself silently to BREATHE. (Yes, I said it just like that, in all caps -- I was MAD!) I took a few deep breaths, reminded myself again to breathe (lower caps) and finally calmed down.

Mark spent the next 20 minutes watching the other kids play on the playground. At one point he relented, saying, "Fine, I'll eat a muffin."

"I don't want to eat with you anymore," I said. "You're on a time out until the bell rings. And then you're going to class alone, without a mother to help you, because I am done with your attitude."

He shrugged, and that sent me over the edge. I am not proud to say that I told him I was going to get donuts (his all-time favorite treat) for breakfast.

The bell rang, and he went off to class. I walked home, stomach grumbling, because it was now 8:45 and I hadn't eaten breakfast. When I suddenly had an epiphany -- who says kids have to be part of Mom's Muffin Morning?

I'd already told my boss I was coming to work late, so I made the best of it. I grabbed my car keys and my new People magazine and drove over to my favorite bagel shop.

I enjoyed my favorite bagel and my favorite coffee and read my favorite magazine. At no point did any of them back talk me, whine that they were bored or wiggle uncontrollably in their seat. It was leisurely, it was relaxing, and it was a great way to re-start my day.

Maybe I'll send an email to the PTA president recommending a kid-free Mom's Day breakfast next year. I think it'd be a big hit!