We decided to take the kids out for a late lunch Easter Sunday after our egg hunt and dragging them from car lot to car lot trying to decide what kind of vehicle we want.
It started off with smiles and promises of lobster rolls and cheddar bay biscuits. But then...there were no lobster rolls.
It went downhill from there.
Le husband's work phone wouldn't stop ringing. Remy's behavior was going south with every passing second. Kicking, pounding on the table, throwing food in every which direction. And with every passing stink eye that I was getting from the wait staff, I knew I only had one real option.
This was one battle I was not going to win. After only three or so bites of my food, I hastily grabbed the truck keys from le husband and hightailed it outside with Remy, leaving him and the older two kids to take care of the check.
I carefully buckled Sir Fussypants into his carseat, gave him a board book to occupy his attention, and promptly sat in the front seat and burst into tears.
And then, after maybe five minutes, I hear a sweet, little voice from the back seat..."Mommmmmmmyyyyyy....mmmmmmmmwahhh."
And there's my boy, trying his best to blow me a kiss.
When we got home, the card Owen made for us for Easter caught my eye on the counter. I stopped unloading the dishwasher and read it for must have been the tenth time this weekend.
"Dear family, I am having lots of fun at school and also I can't wait until Easter is here. I love all of you, including Olivia, Remy, Jessica (mom), John (dad), and the new baby. The only thing I care about is spending time with my family. I love every single one of you. I don't care about candy, Easter egg hunts, not even DS games. The only thing I care about is my nice, caring, loving family. I love you all. Love, Owen, your son and brother."
And then I was crying all over again. Moral of the story? Pregnancy hormones are causing me more tears that I'd like to admit AND I am so blessed to call that eight year old boy mine.
Snapshots from the weekend..
To see last Easter, click here.