Mother’s Day. There are mixed emotions about this day in our home. I’ve always enjoyed this day, especially when my children were little. They would plan all week long what special thing they were going to do for “Mommy”. My oldest daughter is an artist and was from the beginning. So, her special gifts to me have usually been handmade. My son and youngest daughter always followed suit. If big sister gave me a coloring book page for the fridge, I got 3. If I got a flower pot, hand painted with a single marigold in it, I got 3…and so it went. I’ve been served breakfast in bed; given coupon books for extra chores around the house; jewelry; and always, always, always a card with a pastoral scene drawn by fat little fingers and the words, “I love you, Mom” across the whole page, folded down the middle. I still have every one of those cards.
Now my kids are grown and living away from home. I still see them all the time. We get together for Sunday Supper every week. They’ve all grown into beautiful, caring people. I know this is the natural order of things ~ babies are born, kids go to school, they grow up, and young adults walk out the front door to their new lives. And, I’m good with it all the rest of the year. It’s Mother’s Day that’s hard for me. It’s a bittersweet day. I love the grown up people that my children have become. I just miss my babies. I miss the mess at the front door where the kids dropped all their stuff after school, practices, or just being out. “If I have to pick up these shoes once more!” still echoes in my mind, but what I’d give to walk in the door and trip over 3 pairs of shoes, 3 book bags, football pads, soccer cleats, soccer balls, a clarinet, a bag of library books, track gear, softball gear, 2 purses and 2 big dogs who are sure this is their new bed!
I don’t get coloring book pages colored with fat little fingers anymore. I seem only to get one gift now, with one card signed by all three. But it always, always, always says, “I love you, Mom”, across the whole page, folded down the middle.
Now my kids are grown and living away from home. I still see them all the time. We get together for Sunday Supper every week. They’ve all grown into beautiful, caring people. I know this is the natural order of things ~ babies are born, kids go to school, they grow up, and young adults walk out the front door to their new lives. And, I’m good with it all the rest of the year. It’s Mother’s Day that’s hard for me. It’s a bittersweet day. I love the grown up people that my children have become. I just miss my babies. I miss the mess at the front door where the kids dropped all their stuff after school, practices, or just being out. “If I have to pick up these shoes once more!” still echoes in my mind, but what I’d give to walk in the door and trip over 3 pairs of shoes, 3 book bags, football pads, soccer cleats, soccer balls, a clarinet, a bag of library books, track gear, softball gear, 2 purses and 2 big dogs who are sure this is their new bed!
I don’t get coloring book pages colored with fat little fingers anymore. I seem only to get one gift now, with one card signed by all three. But it always, always, always says, “I love you, Mom”, across the whole page, folded down the middle.
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