Mother's Day is Actually Tomorrow

My friend Jeanine asked me at church why I hate Mother's Day. I don't hate it. I love to think of my mom on that day. But for me, I don't like how my kids begrudge the day. It's as if they feel that the world - or me - or someone is forcing them to do kind things for their mom that day. I dislike that they have expectations for the day, and then are unhappy if I don't respond exactly the way they thought I should have. I don't like how it's still a normal day - one where I still change stinky diapers (or underwear), I still cook dinner, I still clean up after everyone, and when I finally try to sit down for a few minutes to just relax I'm accused of "thinking I'm all that . . . and I'm just trying to make my kids do all the work . . . "

I didn't pick the 2nd Sunday of May to be my day. I don't really claim it as Mother's Day for me. Afterall, how can they force someone me to feel loved and appreciated on an assigned day? I never asked for yesterday to be My Day . . . so if you don't mind . . . Tomorrow is really Mother's Day, and so is every other day that turns out half decent within the 365 day calendar. Mother's Day is the day my sweetheart took me to the temple to be his forever. Mother's Day is September 29th, June 9th, May 3rd, July 23rd, and February 29th. Mother's Day is the day when I call my mom up on the phone to say, "I know I complain a lot, and you have to hear about all the stuff that's going on around here with the kids, but I just wanted you to know that today has been a good day. Nothing major has happened, and I just really love my kids and think they are great. I just thought you'd want to know." Mother's Day is sleepy hugs in the morning, and snuggles and talking at night. Mother's Day is those proud moments when I see one of my children grow in wisdom, talent, or maturity right before my very eyes. Mother's Day is my baby crying because I am leaving the house. Mother's Day is reading in the blue chair. Mother's Day is digging in the dirt with my kids. Mother's Day is crying because my mothering heart aches for the growing pains of my children. Mother's Day is going to a National Park as a family. Mother's Day is playing a game as a family. Mother's Day is going to the temple. Mother's Day is hearing my children sing in the car. Mother's Day is getting an unexpected back rub. Mother's Day is chasing people around the house with a spatula. Mother's Day is laughing. Mother's Day is the silent satisfaction of seeing all my children beside me at church. Mother's Day is seeing and hugging the kids that didn't get to be mine, but for whom I still have a Mother's love. Mother's Day is a kind note left on my pillow. Mother's Day is enjoying the rain together.

Mother's day is choosing not to buy a new dress for me, so that I can buy something for one of my kids instead, just like my mom used to do for me.

Mother's Day is a warm cup of hot chocolate after the kids are asleep.

Mother's Day is seeing my frumpy self in the mirror, and being okay with it. Mother's Day is a random act of kindness bestowed upon me. Mother's Day is a kiss good-bye. Mother's Day was a thousand yesterdays . . . Mother's Day is today . . . Mother's Day is a million tomorrows. Mother's Day is mine to enjoy whenever I want. Happy Mother's Day to me.