After giving birth to my fourth child only weeks before Mother’s Day, I was sure Paul was going to orchestrate my special day with a five-course gourmet breakfast and a Blue Angels fly-over.
When my little Gracie climbed up into my bed on Mother’s Day morning and whispered in my ear, “Daddy didn’t take us to get anything for you,” the fury of an angry postpartum lioness possessed my mom-body.
Minutes later I was magically presented with a half-dead potted plant he ran out and purchased from a guy selling Harley Davidson throw rugs.