I enjoy Mother’s Day. It’s so fun to see the cute things the boys bring home from school. Like, some kind of crystallized flower in a handmade little pot, that now sits on our kitchen windowsill.
Or an oversize bookmark, you know, for all those oversize books I read.
And especially the questionnaires. Those are my favorite. They never get my favorite color right and I love that in this one, Elijah estimated me about 2.5 inches taller than my actual height.
I mean, who wouldn’t love that kind of stuff?? Or getting an extra nap, guilt free? No sane woman I know would not care for any of those things.
All that being said, Mother’s Day makes me feel a tad bit guilty. I know it’s a good thing, because there’s lots of people out there who take their moms for granted, and they need that day to remind mom that they love her and appreciate her. They never take the time to tell their Mom that stuff, and that’s sad! However, for my family, I really feel like they’re thanking me for something I should be thanking THEM for. I love my kids. No really, not in that way that you love them because you had them and you always love family, I really actually like them too. Sometimes when I tuck them into bed at night I just can’t help but say something like, “I’m so thankful God let me be your mom!” They usually look at me kinda funny or they’ll say something similar back, which is too cute.
Don’t get me wrong, they make me kinda crazy. I mean the noise level here, you just have no idea. (unless your noise level is about the same, which I imagine for many of you, it is!) And the mess. I could seriously explode when I go into the kitchen and see those dad.gum.socks.underneath.the.computer.desk AGAIN. Or the clothes just laying around, or the partially eaten food under the bed that has been in its present location long enough to not be 100% identifiable. I’m not gonna lie, it’s not always a picnic around here. There’s fighting, the kids among themselves, me with them, them with their dad, me with their dad. There’s rarely a time that everyone is actually getting along.
But, then there’s the car rides home from school where the 9 year old and the 12 year olds are discussing the finer points of talking to girls, whether is should be done “face to face” or “anonymously”. And the whole time I’m thinking, I LOVE that I am getting to hear this conversation, and I wish I could secretly record it to show Steven later. They constantly impress me with their intelligence, their sense of humor (so different from one another and So funny!), their sporadic sweetness. They alternately need their Mama and can handle it on their own. Sometimes, one of them will give the other one a hug or a kiss when they think no one’s looking, and is there anything in the world sweeter than a boy showing affection to his brother?? I haven’t seen it if there is.
There’s no way in the world I’d trade all the poop jokes, disgusting bathrooms, funny and not funny jokes, handmade cards, years of doing laundry, arguments and all that for a life of leisure and napping and a wallet with actual money in it.
I love my 2 year old with his babyness and cute words and constant dancing.
I love my 5 year old who is the sunshine in all our days and has the happy disposition almost all the time.
I love my 7 year old who is sensitive, and helpful, is maybe from the elves, and just wants to be just.like.his.big.brother.
I love my 9 year old whose intelligence and artistic abilities are also accompanied by an artistic temperament that is sometimes wonderful and alternately out of control.
I love my 12 year old who is growing up, and having big person conversations with us, and watching movies and shows with us that we like, and he gets them and we can talk about it.
So you see, the secret about Mother’s day is this. People are saying all these nice things about moms and how we should love and appreciate them and all that, and the whole time, I just can’t help but stop and think of how much I love THEM. I wouldn’t be a mom if it weren’t for THEM.
But I’m still gonna take that nap if I can get it. 😉