My first Mother’s Day as a married woman, my husband surprised me with a homemade flower bed and beautiful plants to fill it with. I wasn’t a mom so I wasn't really expecting anything, but the thoughtful gift left me smitten.
Sometimes Mother’s Day is about honoring the women in your life.
My first Mother’s Day as a mom, my husband was away for a month-long training. After the little sweet potato and I braved church, a dear friend insisted I come over for dinner. I didn’t want to impose and was honestly looking forward to an afternoon in my sweats, so I declined. That evening this pregnant mother of three, dragged her entire family to my home, during what should have been a day all about her, to deliver a slice of chocolate cake.
Sometimes Mother’s Day is about looking around to see who needs a little love.
My second Mother’s Day as a mom, I was ready to cash in on the spoiling. Not only had my husband been gone the year before, but five months earlier we moved from Washington State to Georgia with a 17-month-old….and a three-week-old. I spent 16 car-less days in a hotel with our 60 pound dog, wheeling our laundry around in a rolling playpen beneath my singing toddler with my newborn strapped to my chest. Yeeaaaaah...I was ready for some pampering.
That morning my husband woke-up sick, like couldn't get out of bed sick. I mumbled under my breath while I got the kids up, I made breakfast, and I wrangled them for three hour church. He managed to make dinner (with a little whining on my part), but I cursed his name when I had to clean it up and put the kids to bed by myself.
Sometimes Mother’s Day is a letdown. A big. Fat. Letdown.
Growing-up I loved making my mom homemade gifts and thinking of special surprises for this special day, like a scrambled egg and cinnamon toast breakfast in bed, or taping incredibly terrible hand drawn pictures to her door, that she oohed and awed over like only a mother can.
Sometimes Mother’s Day is about the innocent and heartfelt gestures.
One Mother’s Day while siting in church, a woman was going on about how much she loved being a mom: I was three years into unexplained infertility and without thought buried my crying face into my husband’s shoulder for almost an hour.
Sometimes Mother’s Day is painful.
The year before that, I dropped my husband off at the airport early in the morning; he was leaving for the entire summer for an ROTC assignment. I drove home and crawled straight to bed, sobbing. A couple hours later I sat through church listening to women share their feelings about motherhood, something I was unable to achieve. I held myself together long enough to drive home - and crawl right back into bed.
Sometimes Mother’s Day is lonely.
When I was a kid my mom told me she didn’t always enjoy church service on Mother’s Day, despite the chocolate handout and sweet sentiments. She never had a good relationship with her mom and listening to people’s treasured childhood memories only reminded her - that she didn’t have any.
Sometimes Mother’s Day opens old wounds.
As an adult, my brother has made it a point to go above and beyond on this May holiday; lobster dinners, putting my parents up in nice hotels, you name it. To say he was a challenging child would be an understatement, but he’s been trying to make good for years.
Sometimes Mother’s Day is about atoning for the stress we put our moms through.
This Mother’s Day (2020) I will, again, be husbandless. The stay-at-home orders will make for a day - pretty much the same as the past 60. But as it approaches and my mind starts to throw me a pity-party, I remember the years my heart ached to have a child, and the many couples who are still struggling to start their families.
When I feel annoyed that my kids are too young to even know what Mother’s Day is, let alone bring me breakfast in bed, I look at those healthy little beauties and think of so many women who have lost a child, and what their hearts have to endure day in and day out.
When I roll my eyes because I won't get one day’s rest from diaper duty, I imagine the single women in my life whose dreams of a family have been excruciatingly stalled; how they must view such menial tasks as tokens of a blessed life.
And when I feel a twinge of sadness that I can’t even embrace my sweet friends to celebrate this special day, I remember that I’ve been embraced for 37 years by an amazing friend I call mom, who loves me unconditionally.
Sometimes Mother’s Day is about counting our blessings.
And this Mother’s Day - my heart is full.
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