Not too much time ever passes without me telling my daughters I love them. Or kissing them. Or smothering them with tickles and squeezes. Or reprimanding them (at least my older daughter; my younger daughter only incurs my wrath when she thinks it’s appropriate to try and get fed before 5 a.m.).
I’m tired, overworked, underpaid and not frequently appreciated, all of which is easy to complain about. Often. But more than that, I am overwhelmed with the love and blessings in my life.
I don’t need to receive presents on Mother’s Day, but I do feel like I should be doling them out.
The other day I was at a Little League baseball game when my husband was talking to another dad. After they parted ways, he told me the man’s 5-year-old son had just finished 18 months of chemotherapy.
I bitch and complain. A lot. I find it pretty therapeutic, actually. I enjoy kvetching. It’s good for me. I get it out, and it usually stays out. My problems are First World-only, and for that I am extraordinarily grateful.
But the reality is, I have nothing to complain about. I have beautiful, healthy children. An adoring and kindhearted husband. I am the luckiest woman in the world. Every single day. I love my family to bits and pieces and plan to celebrate them on Mother’s Day, just like I do every other day.
Who or what do you plan to celebrate this Mother’s Day?
Photo credit: Meredith Carroll