I stood on one foot, holding a lobster in one hand and a cake pan in the other. Sweat soaked my hairline and I looked around me, taking in the scene.

Our son, covered in flour and runny eggs, held the oven door open. His mouth was open just as wide.

Our daughter, sitting cross-legged in a puddle of cake batter and Yoo-Hoo, held up a platter of uncooked Pizza Rolls. She wore the biggest smile on her face you ever did see.

"Happy Mother's Day," I told you.

You blinked.

Blinked again.

Then we laughed.

Then we ate.