Mother's Day

I've been thinking all week about Lisa-Jo's post on Mother's Day.

After we spent quite some time and a small fortune on cards for the women who have loved us, I began to wonder about the expectations we live with. And I've gone back and forth about calling my own, knowing the scars are still fresh and the wounds don't want to be reopened.

And I got up this morning, husband gone to worship practice at church. I made my own coffee, made my own breakfast, told the sweet boys to turn down the volume on the cartoons.

It's a normal day. I locked the keys in the car, where crumbs and Legos line the seats. The half-full tubs are scattered around the kitchen. The overflowing laundry baskets wait to be folded.

And for the first time in a long time, I am not disappointed on this day. It is enough to be their mom, his wife, her friend.

And though I wouldn't mind a day alone, it won't be today. I'll refill the coffee cup, button one more superhero costume, and remind them to put the seat down.

Again.