Let me tell you a little bit about my Mother’s Day.
Here’s what I envisioned: waking up a little later, with my husband taking the boys so I could sleep. A breakfast arriving with no part in cooking from me. A little extra time to shower and get ready for church. My kids, somehow sensing the importance of the day, acting ever so sweet and on their best behavior. Is it too much to ask that the universe take care of me for a day? I think not.
Here’s what really happened: my youngest up an hour and a half early, and me taking him out for an early morning walk. Three trips to the same Starbucks, one after near pandemonium at a restaurant that we eventually vacated. Cleaning up vomit at said Starbucks. Shuffling kids around in the rain. Some screaming from them, and some yelling from me. A long drive, and a difficult bedtime.
But fortunately, there was also a little extra time to shower (thanks to my husband ushering the kids out). My favorite dress. Some giggles, smiles, and hugs. And a grande hazelnut coconut milk mocha macchiato with my name on it. (So to speak. If it’s too early for anyone else to be there, there’s no need to write your name on the cup.)
We spent the weekend up in Maryland with my mom. Her birthday happened to fall on Mother’s Day this year, and you just can’t miss that opportunity. And while the rest of the weekend was great, Mother’s Day for me just was laughably different from what I expected. And yet it was everything I should have anticipated.
I won’t lie and tell you that I took it all with a smile and a quick roll of the eyes as I shuffled through these moments with effortless grace. Cranky is what I was most of the day, much as I tried.
But there’s something about the whole mess that makes me feel like more of a mom – strolling my youngest up and down a pathway way too early in the morning, sipping coffee. Crying over dropping him off in an unfamiliar children’s ministry class and hoping for the best (but fully expecting them to call me to come get him). Saying “I’m sorry,” to my older son for yelling, and telling him I will try again.
And maybe that’s what it’s really all about. Not the appreciation or the recognition from others, although I hope you get it. It means a lot, and it probably doesn’t cover all the effort behind it. And it’s not about the perfect day, where everything goes just right.
Instead, maybe it’s more about your own awareness that you are way more of a superhuman than you realize in the day to day. Maybe it’s about the silly paintings and And also, maybe it’s a collective sigh and shaking of heads with other moms as we go through this together. Maybe that’s what Mother’s Day is really about.
Finally, I’ll end with this: I grew up appreciating my mom for sure. Her hard work for the family, sacrifices, and encouragement were obvious. But I didn’t fully appreciate her until I became a mom myself.
Appreciation and celebration from our kids for every little thing we do for them probably isn’t going to come at this stage. But we can soak in the sweet moments, laugh at the crazy ones, and appreciate these wild and manic days of motherhood.
How was your Mother’s Day? Who did you celebrate or remember?