Post Mother’s Day Post

I know, enough about Mother’s Day already. I just have some things to say and I think that if I don’t, I’ll forget. And I can’t. I can’t forget; I need to have a place to come back to when it’s time to remember.

I’ve been lucky enough to celebrate six Mother’s Days. None has ever been as special as this one. We did not go out for brunch. I did not wear a hat. It was just a day.

My kids woke up. My husband asked if I’d like to sleep in and he’d bring me coffee. I said 30 minutes, no 20, no 5. I said, nah, forget it, right now. I wanted to maximize the time I’d have alone in my bedroom without little, dirty feet stomping about me and all my stuff.

Dan brought me coffee and a paper, and later a new movie he thought I’d like, and I could watch, all by my quiet self at 8:00 on a Sunday Morning. But I declined and so he offered pancakes and I said sure and 30 minutes later a little man appeared in my doorway with a funny rendition of “pancakes reddy mamma.”

And then the day went on…

More than once Dan offered me time – he suggested a bike ride, which I should have accepted since it’s been a year since my ass has hit that teensy little seat.

I was lucky enough to have all three boys take an afternoon nap, even the 6 year old. And even though they were all a little grouchy when they woke up I found myself covered in a honey-colored glow of mothership. I carried the little boys down the stairs and out to the yard, one in each arm. They cuddled against me as their still-warm, just-woken bodies hit the cool, Spring breeze. I was shelter. It was such dear sweetness.

The big kid playing with the zip line we finally installed.

The baby toddling over to the sandbox to play.

The toddler somehow charming me with his melodramatic demands.

There’s lots of words for reflection about all the little parts and pieces of my day. I’ve written them and erased them a few times now. Not wanting to appear overly sentimental I have chosen to leave them out. And I think it’s better that way. I tend to let things go too easily and leave little for myself to hold on to.