Mother's Day

I've never wanted to be away from my kiddos on Mother's Day; after all, part of the fun of Mother's Day is being a mother.  Unbeknownst to us, however, Leslie and I planned our hill country getaway for Mother's Day weekend.  Since Leslie and I are both so busy, and I was beginning to feel desperate for a little time away, we opted to go ahead as planned.  And so I was away from my kids on Mother's Day.  It was only the third time that I have ever been away from them; in fact, in five years, I have been away from them a total of about seven days.    Days like today I am at my wits end, and I know that I must shift into survival mode just to make it through the day.  I watch the clock, counting down the minutes until Daniel returns . . . three hundred and two minutes.  Though there are days when they drive me completely crazy, I would always rather be with them.

All of our shoes are wet with pee (someone had an accident in the shoe closet), the kitchen floor and table are tacky with splatters of old juice, laundry  litters the sofas and floors, Ella insists that she hates me (though I know she doesn't), Jude demands "hold you" despite his wish to be left alone, and Virginia sobs uncontrollably because she can't cut perfectly along the lines.  Even on days like today,  days when I fleetingly reconsider my calling, I am certain that there is no place that I'd rather be.   

A weekend away was rejuvenating.  I read books, hiked, lounged by the pool, window shopped, and ate meals whenever I wanted to.  I enjoyed uninterrupted conversation, wore pretty jewelry without fear of having it ripped from my neck, and I even went to the bathroom before I felt the urge to explode.   I took pictures of Leslie and she took pictures of me, just so we would have evidence of the weekend.  More than anything though, Leslie and I celebrated being moms: we told stories of or kids, we called to wish them goodnight, we shopped for the perfect gifts, we missed our husbands, we commiserated over personal struggles, we encouraged each other, and we laughed a lot, even when we realized that I wore to our expensive dinner pants embellished with the dry boogers of a sickly child.  I know that in a few months, perhaps even a few weeks, our Mother's Day weekend will seem distant, as though it never happened.  I'm okay with that, because everyday I live what we celebrated: being  a mom, a wife, a daughter, a friend.   

I have in the past struggled to define myself as more than simply a mom.  I have sought ownership of something that would be uniquely mine, so that I would seem more complete.   As it turns out, however, I couldn't be more complete.  I am a mom.  Life doesn't get a whole lot better than this.  Now more than ever, "I am certain that given a cape and a nice tiara, I could save the world."