Today—as every day—we ought to honor our mothers. I am grateful for the love of my mother and the sacrifices she made for me. My young children are already starting to absorb that message; today, the two older kids made me lovely cards and told me “Happy Mother’s Day,” in between smearing cream cheese on the floor, leaving markers uncapped, and getting into a desperate struggle over the crayons. My baby grinned toothlessly at me after getting me up several times last night, then promptly spewed milk all over himself and me.
Happy Mother’s Day to me.
No, seriously. I have always thought of Mother’s Day as a time to thank our mothers, to remember all of the wonderful things they do for us from babyhood through adulthood. But now that I am a mother, I also think of Mother’s Day as a time to be grateful for my kiddos. I am thankful that God gave them to my husband and me; I am thankful to be able to cuddle and comfort and care for them.
I often fall short in the example I want to set for them. I am not as patient as I should be, not as diligent, not as cheerful in my duties as I should be. Sometimes I inadvertently send them the message that they are bothers. At least then I can model humility, and asking forgiveness for wrongs.
It’s easy to think sweet, sentimental things about my children when they’re sleeping or playing nicely by themselves. But my children are blessings, even on rough days filled with temper tantrums and messes, days that seem 36 hours long and require lots of prayer and chocolate to get through. At the back of my mind, I know that I am so lucky to have to deal with babies who never want to be put down and toddlers who want to read the same truck book 7 times in a row.
Happy Mother’s Day to all of you who have raised children. Drink a mimosa, enjoy breakfast in bed, open a nice card or smell the flowers your kids got you. But happy Mother’s Day to me, too. How fortunate I am to be able to say that.
Lazy Mother Musings 