My parents were up here for the Mother's Day weekend. Since our living room is in a state of flux, and raining is a constant now, we spent much of our time hanging out in the kitchen, chatting and drinking coffee. Monday was nice enough that my folks and I spent our time as tourists, which was fun.
My parents took the kids to Saturday Mass when I was working and Matt was doing DFL stuff (he called me at work and said, "I just got a hug from the next governor of Minnesota!"). I laid out some clothes for John and Maia to wear -- a nice plaid shirt and some cords for John; the Easter dress, complete with bonnet, for Maia. From all reports, it seems to have gone well, although Maia said later it was hard to sit the whole time. John said he marked his favorite story ("The stone! WAS ROLLED AWAY FROM THE TOMB!") with a ribbon in the book in the pew, which he enjoyed.
When I got home from work, I found his nice clothes still laid out, on the hanger and everything. This meant they were ready for him to wear when we went to Mother's Day brunch, but it also meant that he had worn something else to Mass. When I asked, he said he didn't know he was supposed to put the laid-out clothes on, so he helped himself to what he thought was appropriate to wear to Mass, which turned out to be shorts and a Hawaiian shirt.
It is a testament to my parents that they let him wear it.
In any case, as we got ready for to leave for brunch (wild-rice-stuffed mushrooms! marinated salmon! fruit soup! potatoes with cheese and onions! coffee by the urn!), John started hopping around with a grin on his face. I'd already been gifted with the paper flower and card made at school for my Mother's Day present, so I wondered what was up. After he got dressed (plaid shirt and cords), I saw him slip my union contract, which is a little red book (yes!), into his breast pocket.
"OH, I can't WAIT until we get to brunch," he said casually. "I am going to READ this contract, and it will be BORING."
"Boring?" I said. "Wait a minute, that contract feeds you."
"I know," he said. "But it's BORING to read. I will READ it the WHOLE TIME we're at brunch, and it will be BORING."
We drove up the shore (when we passed a taconite processing facility, Maia said "Look! It's a cloud factory!") and tromped through the mud at the brunch place. John kept sneaking me sidelong glances. "I can hardly keep from grinning!" he told Matt.
We were seated inside. John whipped out the contract. "I will now read this BORING contract," he said, and opened it. On the first page, he had stuck about a dozen foil butterfly stickers. "See?" he said, jumping out of his seat with excitement. "It was boring, but I put the stickers on it and made it beautiful! So now when you read it, you will see the beautiful stickers!"
As we go marching, marching, we bring the greater days,
The rising of the women means the rising of the race...
Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;
hearts starve as well as bodies; bread and roses, bread and roses.