Mother's Day
From the title of this blog post, I suppose you think I will be writing about the cute, sweet things my girls did for me on this special-of-all-special days. Well, that is partly true.
As you can imagine, my girls did do a fair amount of notable things for me. All were appreciated and will be retained for future ooohhing and aaahhhing reminisces. Pictures were painted, cards assembled, a necklace made (complete with fingertip impression), and a precious coupon book with promises of services I have no intention of collecting. Those were the cute things.
Then there were the odd happenings of the day, starting very, very early. Oldest Daughter chose to wake up at 2a, on purpose, to deliver a gift bag full of hand-made goodies to my bedroom door. She wanted to ensure I would see the bag the minute I tripped over it as I exited the bedroom later on in the morning. But, in the delivery process, she woke the dog, who then refused to go back to sleep. Handy Hubby, assuming the dog was sick (because why else would she loudly and incessantly whine from her kennel in the other room?), slept the remainder of the night on the sofa with the dog at his feet (the dog is fine, by the way). Then, there was the incident at church. The pastor gave each of the children, during the service, a flower to give to their mothers. Oldest Daughter decided to give away my special Mother's Day flower to someone else's mom. Why, you ask? Because she did not want to walk all the way over to where I was sitting. You know, 10 feet away from where she received the flower. Yeah, so much special-ness.
I am happy that my children enjoy the day and revel in celebrating me being their mother. That makes my heart beat proud. But, this blog is actually going to be about my feelings relating to the mild dislike I feel for this holiday. Before you shoot off nasty emails, let me also mention that I do not particularly care for Valentine's Day either. Yes, I said it. I own it. I dislike both of the feel-good days of the year. Now, I know that there are many of you reading this that are thinking I am a complete fool for a) not liking the holiday, b) admitting it out loud, c) both. I can live with that.
I am not a heartless person. I am not a bah-humbug type of individual. I just do not feel strongly the need to celebrate this day. Mother's Day still sees me doing dishes, cleaning up after three pretty messy people, and generally fulfilling my chores list. I have not been crowned Queen of the 24-hours, but I will admit the choice of breakfast items hand-made by Handy Hubby does deliver me to my happy place.
I feel that Mother's Day is and should be every day. The actions of my children, how they behave in public, whether they say 'please' and 'thank you' without prompting - these are my celebrations. Good or bad - these are my celebrations. My children honor me on this day because they have been told to do that. And yet, the hugs, kisses and 'I Love You' statements do not increase over this day as opposed to the day before or after Mother's Day. I experience these things every day.
Mother's Day, to me, is celebrating my children's birthdays. These are the days I became a mother (for the first time and then once over). These are the days I was and am honored to call them mine. These are the days I was entrusted with guiding their journey into the land of humility, kindness, patience and love. These are the days that remind me of when my world forever changed. On my girls birthdays, I do not receive a tacky piece of jewelry or a sappy card from them. No one tells me "Happy Mother's Day'. Instead, I still receive hugs, kisses and 'I Love You' statements from the precious souls that made me a mother. The difference is, on these days, it just means so much more. JCMT
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I received a sad piece of news a few days ago that our friend and winter neighbor passed away at the end of February. I did not know Max long, but I looked forward to him and his wife Virginia's Arizona visits. I enjoyed the conversations had and the short walks to the mailbox shared. Oldest Daughter looked forward to the farming stories he regaled her with, as well as the short rides in the golf cart around the neighborhood. It was with a heavy heart we said good-bye on the visit we knew would be his last, saddened in the knowledge we would not see Max again in this life. To Max's family and his dear wife, thank you for allowing me and my family to share in a small part of his life. We enjoyed it immensely. He was a good man. May you rest in peace Max.
As you can imagine, my girls did do a fair amount of notable things for me. All were appreciated and will be retained for future ooohhing and aaahhhing reminisces. Pictures were painted, cards assembled, a necklace made (complete with fingertip impression), and a precious coupon book with promises of services I have no intention of collecting. Those were the cute things.
I am happy that my children enjoy the day and revel in celebrating me being their mother. That makes my heart beat proud. But, this blog is actually going to be about my feelings relating to the mild dislike I feel for this holiday. Before you shoot off nasty emails, let me also mention that I do not particularly care for Valentine's Day either. Yes, I said it. I own it. I dislike both of the feel-good days of the year. Now, I know that there are many of you reading this that are thinking I am a complete fool for a) not liking the holiday, b) admitting it out loud, c) both. I can live with that.
I am not a heartless person. I am not a bah-humbug type of individual. I just do not feel strongly the need to celebrate this day. Mother's Day still sees me doing dishes, cleaning up after three pretty messy people, and generally fulfilling my chores list. I have not been crowned Queen of the 24-hours, but I will admit the choice of breakfast items hand-made by Handy Hubby does deliver me to my happy place.
I feel that Mother's Day is and should be every day. The actions of my children, how they behave in public, whether they say 'please' and 'thank you' without prompting - these are my celebrations. Good or bad - these are my celebrations. My children honor me on this day because they have been told to do that. And yet, the hugs, kisses and 'I Love You' statements do not increase over this day as opposed to the day before or after Mother's Day. I experience these things every day.
Mother's Day, to me, is celebrating my children's birthdays. These are the days I became a mother (for the first time and then once over). These are the days I was and am honored to call them mine. These are the days I was entrusted with guiding their journey into the land of humility, kindness, patience and love. These are the days that remind me of when my world forever changed. On my girls birthdays, I do not receive a tacky piece of jewelry or a sappy card from them. No one tells me "Happy Mother's Day'. Instead, I still receive hugs, kisses and 'I Love You' statements from the precious souls that made me a mother. The difference is, on these days, it just means so much more. JCMT
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I received a sad piece of news a few days ago that our friend and winter neighbor passed away at the end of February. I did not know Max long, but I looked forward to him and his wife Virginia's Arizona visits. I enjoyed the conversations had and the short walks to the mailbox shared. Oldest Daughter looked forward to the farming stories he regaled her with, as well as the short rides in the golf cart around the neighborhood. It was with a heavy heart we said good-bye on the visit we knew would be his last, saddened in the knowledge we would not see Max again in this life. To Max's family and his dear wife, thank you for allowing me and my family to share in a small part of his life. We enjoyed it immensely. He was a good man. May you rest in peace Max.
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