Mother's Day

I am looking forward to a nice day with my family.  I've already had two sons wish me happy Mother's Day.  Emma is excited to give me the gift she has for me.  Mark wondered, "What time are gifts?" and Braeden already gifted me with a fragrant and lovely lily plant.

I feel loved.

Today I want to honor mothers.  Particularly my mother.  She is amazing and every single person who knows her knows that.  She is a champion of good causes, iron tough and determined.  I love her faith and optimism and dogged desire to serve and better the lives of her children and grandchildren.  She denies every attempt I make at self doubt.  A while ago (I can't even remember the show), I saw some mother on TV say to her son, "No one who spent nine months inside of me is good, they're great."

I think my mom feels that way.  It's comforting and sustaining to have someone with so much grit believe whole heartedly in you.

I also want to honor Geri.  She is a pillar of strength to her family.  For as long as I have known her, her home has been a place of beauty and refuge.  She works hard and plays hard and loves her children and grandchildren in a selfless and accepting way.  I'm grateful to be part of her family.

I'm also thinking about my sisters who are in the mothering trenches with me.  Since our kids are around the same ages, it feels like we're shoulder to shoulder, working toward the same goal.

I honor mothers without children.  Some of the teachers at the school where I work are unmarried and don't have children.  But they are mothers.  There are stashes of snacks for hungry kids, there are hugs and high fives and encouragement and tough love administered in high doses.  There is forgiveness and let's try again and you can do it delivered on the daily.

I honor mothers whose children break their hearts.  There is nothing easy about mothering.  It's hard physical work and hard mental work and hard emotional work.  Hyperbole on Mother's Day feels a little uncomfortable when what you're really trying to do is survive.

Last night Adam and I were grocery shopping and the store was filled with fathers and kids.  They were filling carts with things they needed to show the moms they loved them.

It all matters.

The homemade cards, the clumsily wrapped presents, the messes that will happen in kitchens as kids try their hand at cooking for their mothers.

It matters.  These people know what my heartbeat sounds like on the inside.