Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day

When I was younger Mother's Day meant a celebration of all that is glorious, because I went to a Catholic School named after the Virgin Mary.  We celebrated Spring and rebirth and flowers and Mom!  Mother's Day was construction paper cards with glitter, glue, dollies, and ribbon and a poem copied off the blackboard.

As a teenager, Mother's Day meant trying my hand at the magnificent Sunday morning breakfast my mother was famous for, but not without some help.  It meant taking a trip to the Hallmark store with Grandma to find the perfect card.

In early adulthood it meant taking time out of the selfishness that filled my days, to spend a little time doing whatever Mom wanted to do, even it it was cleaning up the basement, planting flowers, or getting out the deck furniture.

Now that I am a Mom, I have a whole new respect for those that came before me, for they are the reason I am here.  My Mother, Grandmothers, Great grandmothers, the stories are too many to mention, but yet essential to who I am.

They were immigrants, and pioneers, and workers, and trail blazers.  They raised families in whatever circumstances they were given.  They gave everything they could, asked for very little, and prayed that their children grow strong and happy.

I am a mother.  I can bring life into the world and have an uncontrollable urge to protect it.  I am a fighter and a nurturer.  I am a worker and a queen.  I am a survivor.  I am mad as a hatter one minute and as organized as the ant before winter the next.  I can sing a lullaby and scream like a banshee.  I am a mother.

On this Mother's Day I smile over the handmade cards and slightly crooked potted plants.  I tear up when tackled with hugs, kisses, and compliments.  And I give up a silent prayer of thanks, to those who made this possible.