Not the Happiest Mother's Day

All I wanted for Mother’s Day was a card from my husband and a picture of me and my kids all dressed up and ready for church.  I received neither.   I left for church fuming because my husband didn’t spend $4.99 on an overpriced Hallmark card designed by someone sitting in a cubicle.   I was doubly mad because my two-year old decided to hate me and didn’t want to sit still for two seconds to take a picture with me and her brother.  

I’ll be honest...  I didn’t have some instance of revelation or some heart stopping moment that caused me to snap out of my horrendous mood.  I’m stubborn, so it took me an entire day to realize how petty and childish I was being.  

I know there are some of you who think Mother’s Day should be a day for honoring the woman who birthed you.  There should be phone calls and cards and flowers and breakfasts in bed and jewelry and heartfelt letters.   I had that expectation this morning.  I thought that after spending 18 months of pregnancy, the least my husband could do was buy a stinkin’ card!  And M looked really cute this morning with her tights and tunic top and flower headband.  All I wanted was one picture! 

But I made myself choose joy instead of anger.  And over the course of the day, my mood changed.   My husband didn’t buy me an overpriced card for Mother’s Day.   But he does leave me notes of appreciation and encouragement all throughout the year, for no reason at all.   He didn’t make me breakfast in bed or take me out to dinner.   But he always does the dishes after dinner, and helps fold laundry when it starts to pile up.   

And my kids wouldn’t sit still for a photo.   But I’m thankful that they’re healthy enough to run around and throw a fit in protest.   That picture wouldn’t have been representative of what life at our house looks like, anyway.   We don’t live in our “Sunday clothes.”  I spend the majority of my time without makeup.  Who am I kidding?  Most of the time I refuse to put on basic supportive undergarments.   And M generally has breakfast in her hair, and dirt on her hands.  And L typically smells like poop or spit up.  I’m okay with that.  

So instead of focusing on what I didn’t get on this one day of the year, I looked at what I do have the other 364 days of the year, and I’m thankful to have been given so much.