Steeling Myself for Mother's Day

It's not the photo, it's the whole day that's kinda fuzzy. Before you think I've totally lost the plot I'll remind you that I live in France and that tomorrow is indeed Mother's day here. And I'm mentally preparing myself. I've found a solution to the most pressing issue - child #2 bought home "surprise" biscuits from school  Friday afternoon, I know this because a) I had to carry them home along with bag and coat in usual pack animal way and b) when we got back from dinner at friends' Friday night I found the dog had got the packet and eaten most of the biscuits. I "confessed" this morning that I had found the packet and couldn't resist the delicious biscuits, I was given a small talking to but the main consequences are a) I've given the implicit message that it's OK to open irresistible treats early ( Christmas will be hell next year) and b)tomorrow I will have to eat, chew and make yummy noises over the last two biscuits in the bag, that have obviously come closer to the dog's mouth than my own particular comfort zone. This is nothing compared to the breakfast in bed scenario.  In past years I have been spoilt rotten with an apple and a glass of red wine - "we know you like it and we are too young for the kettle". This year I have come to the conclusion that mother's day, like any spontaneous event, is better with a lot of forward planning. Child #1 has been well briefed on how to make the perfect cuppa throughout the past twelve months, she's even had a semi- intensive course in "toast and muffins mummy's way" over the last few weeks.  Last week we went to a fair where I very, very specifically pointed to choice of objects while repeating to my husband the mantra " I like this, it's Mother's day next week". When we sat down for a drink and I told him he could go off and do his own shopping he looked slightly confused until #2 pulled him aside with the fake whisper "I'll show you want to get, you pay daddy".  It won't all be fun and games tomorrow, as I'm a keen runner the kids have already suggested I go for a nice run tomorrow morning, what a shame to go off gallivanting through the woods all on my own, in silence, only my own thoughts for company, while they set the table for lunch. I shall have to be brave.I can't even say I'll get out of the cooking as that's not my job ( have a French husband, he loves cooking!). The worst part is I won't be able to tell them off until at least mid afternoon. I'll just take some indigestion pills before bed and then I'm ready; poems, pictures, soggy biscuits, scarf (unless my husband gets the wrong stall in which case it will be sausages!), kisses and cuddles, bring it on, I'm steeled.