In Celebration of Mamas

I usually dislike Mother's Day. Because I think it's silly. I don't like Hallmark cards that someone else wrote. I'd rather have a piece of yellow construction paper, "I love you Mommee" in green crayon. Because he made it. Folded it with his seven year old hands, smoothing down the crease with one and then the other.

I don't want artfully arranged roses. I want the gerber daisies he chose from the buckets at the grocery store because he thought they were bright and beautiful.

"They're your favorite, right Mommy?"

Of course they are. Anything he chooses for me, hoping it's my favorite, is absolutely my instant favorite. Even if it's....cactus.

Someone asked if I would get breakfast in bed for Mother's Day. I sincerely doubt it. But that's not what I want. I don't want any thing for Mother's Day.

I want another day to serve my family. Honest.

Every Sunday I head to the farmer's market and buy several dozen farm eggs. Sometimes a few bowls of mushrooms. I will do the same thing on Mother's Day. Because I have the awesome privilege of caring for my children and my husband. Making them breakfast every morning. Waking each of them up with a hug, coaxing them from their beds with a promise of warm food. It's important to me that I do this. I spend so much time away from them....

So much of my active mothering occurs when they're not even awake. I'm the first one up and the last to lay down. And I wouldn't change it.

To sit on the side of his bed and comb his thick brown hair with my fingers and wonder how it could possibly need trimming again. To trace the outline of his perfect nose and kiss his cheek and squeeze his foot as I quietly step out of his room, careful to avoid the million and one Legos he left on the floor.

To reach into her crib and twirl her precious curls around one finger and then another. To brush the soft squish of the top of her hand and the ring around her wrist. To place my hand before her open mouth just to feel her breath.

These living, breathing, giggling, screaming gifts. Thank you, God.


My mom sent me this picture today. My 17 month old baby hiding "behind" a tree. I am so blessed to be her mama that I can't even stand it.

For Mother's Day....

Just. This.



I can't even get into how much I love my own mama. I just get a huge lump in my throat and my fingers freeze. She takes care of me. And my brother. And my sister. And my daddy. And my husband. And most especially my kids.

Just. Can't. Even.

Happy Mama's Day, friends. I wish you love and joy and laughter with your families.

And handmade construction paper cards.