Somehow we’ve made it through another school year with Kate. Kate certainly has changed this school year – learning her letters/sounds, tons and tons of songs, and how to write her name. I’m sad to see it end, but excited for what the summer has in store for us.
Summer, here we come!
You know, I think we put a lot of pressure on ourselves for Mother’s Day. We, as in the mothers, I think. We want the extra good behavior, the picked-out-the-night-before-coordinating clothes, the polished picture, the thoughtful gift. But to our kids (well, at least to MY kids), Mother’s Day is just another day. What are we going to do today that’s fun? Can we go to the playground? Can we see our friends? Can we eat ice cream? How come there’s no Kid’s Day??
Of course I want to have Mother’s Day. I smile when the tent at Kroger goes up just thinking about the chocolate covered strawberries that Jeff will most likely pick out – even though I’ll tell him not to. I love the homemade gifts my girls make at school and the little questionnaire I knew was coming from Kate. What’s your mommy’s name? How old is she? What is her favorite food? What do you love the most about your mommy?
On Mother’s Day, my kids will still fight. They’ll probably still cry/whine/complain about something and how it’s not going their way. They (well one of them more than the others) don’t want to take a picture because the sun is too bright. They’d rather go outside and play than sit in my lap.
So I’ll take my Mother’s Day how I can get it. Which, if you think about it, is every day that I get with my girls. On Monday, when I got each girl her own slushie from Sonic to celebrate Macy’s first day of STAAR testing and Kate accidentally put a hole in the side of hers with her straw and hands it to me while I’m driving and the whole thing is oozing sticky grape Nerd-filled slushie all over my clothes/steering wheel/seat until I have to open up my door and dump the whole thing out, that is Mother’s Day. It’s Mother’s Day when Kate cries and says, “I wasted it!” and Macy hands her her own slushie and says, “Here you go, Kate. You can have mine.” That is Mother’s Day. Or when Selah steps on glass two days before her field trip to the science museum and I carry her through the entire butterfly exhibit because her wheelchair can’t do the steps, that is Mother’s Day. When she giggles because a butterfly lands on her little hand, I thought – this. This right here is Mother’s Day.
This year, Macy made me a Joy Jar for Mother’s Day. It might be my favorite gift she’s given to me up to this point. It’s a jar filled with “compliments” about her mommy. I love it when you are there for me when I am scared. I love when we spend time together. You are a great mom because you care for me when I am hurt. When you pick me up early from school, you make me happy. When I am upset, you help me calm down.
As I opened each one of these, I was overwhelmed. That my sweet little girl, who was a baby just a minute ago, is able to express herself so well. That these little things that I do are being noticed. That she loves me so much.
As I went through my Mother’s Day – with all its bumps and bruises – I tried to think back on all of these compliments. I tried to hold them in my heart – the way Mary did when Jesus was born.
The truth is, we’re only going to get a few Mother’s Days – the real ones and the in-between ones. My own personal Mother’s Day will never be the same, because I no longer have that person to give a gift to, to spend time with, to tell her how much she means to me. So my hope is for however many Mother’s Days I get is that I won’t over-pressure myself. That I’ll be able to step back and enjoy it, even when nothing seems to be going to plan. That I’ll get to hold my girls and love on them as much as possible.
Happy Mother’s Day to all you mothers out there. Your kids are thankful for you.
Every Moment Afterward 