This past Sunday was Mother’s Day here in Sweden. Since I didn’t get showered with jewelry, flowers or a champagne breakfast on the American holiday a few weeks ago, I assumed that meant that I’d be celebrated on the Swedish one. Then I brought it up a bunch of times beforehand. Like, a bunch of times. But here was the context, since I’m not typically a jewelry and flowers kind of girl (though champagne breakfast sounds amazing): “Maybe, husband, you should get up with Jamie at 6:00 am on Sunday and let me sleep three extra hours since it will be Mother’s Day and all. Think about it.” And he DID think about it. And I DID sleep in for three extra hours. I woke up just as the two of them were heading out the door to take care of some stuff at the fishing club and luxuriated in the reality that I was going to be able to watch a few uninterrupted episodes of Grace and Frankie on Netflix while they were gone. I took my time in the shower, fixed myself some breakfast, and put on an epie, only to receive a call shortly thereafter from The Swede saying that he was bringing Jambo home because he wanted to be with his mamma. Then I got the best of both worlds. Happy Mother’s Day to me!