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What a mothersday weekend we’ve had!  It was our wedding anniversary, maybe not commemorated lavishly, but no less celebrated.  There were multiple mothers day performances and events.

There were the Peruvian folk dances yesterday, performed by the most delightful preschool dancers in front of a crowd of proud mommies, daddies and assorted family.  There was plenty to enjoy even if you weren’t a proud parent – from the matador who almost stepped on his cloak several times, to the young bull obsessed with his horns, to the amplified spontaneous comments of a preschooler who certainly did not understand the magic of the microphones in front of him.

Next, a toddler baker, in an apron and chef’s toque, made cookies with mommy, while teachers and helpers brought juice, posed for pictures, and cleaned up spills effortlessly. Each mommy was presented with a handmade (by the teacher I’m sure) gift.

365-2592Tonight: “Daddy, daddy, you have to make fire! “

And just like that, my chicken and eggplant menu plan turned into chicken kabobs, and mothers day wrapped up with impromptu “camping” with food cooked over a fire. Their little tent was set up outside, and they carefully supervised as daddy cooked chicken on a stick. They were very disappointed that we could not eat in the tiny tent, but happily munched on camp food cooked over the fire even here at the kitchen table.

Maybe some moms would have been disappointed without cards and gifts and lavish meals out, or even less lavish meals prepared by someone else at home.

But for me, this day again proved why I said “I do” to this guy eleven years ago.  Instead of insisting that he needs to finish the office setup he was deeply involved in completing, he dropped everything because a little boy wanted to camp. “Make fire Daddy!” And he did. Dinner was made; hearts were warmed.   And that is what’s vital this mothers’ day.