The Suburbs

First thing this morning, my two-year-old gave me Arcade Fire's album, The Suburbs, for Mother's Day. I hope to never forget the happiness on his face when he handed me his little bundle of card and gift. Then the title track triggered an impromptu dance party in our kitchen. I couldn't ask for a better Mother's Day present than that.

A little later, my son and I headed off to a Mother's Day Plant Sale in a big white tent five minutes from home. The tent was packed but he stuck with me, and didn't even complain when a woman walked right into him. It's tough being 3' tall. We headed home happy, mud on our boots, bearing a tomato plant, three buttercups, and two Hens and Chicks sprinkled with Fairy Grow Dust.

Turning onto our street, we watched a deer, grazing in a grassy space between the homes.

As if that weren't enough, I came home to an email from my mother's childhood best-friend, offering to share some of her memories of my mom.

Then we hosted my husband's family for brunch in our little 1970's bungalow, and ate strawberry shortcake and sipped wine and dodged plastic golfballs in the backyard.

And at the end of the day we walked our dog around the block while distant thunder rumbled, and dashed home when the rain began to fall, and I was grateful.