I like getting mothers day gifts.

I love hearing my children tell me I’m the best.

I love acknowledging other women.

There really isn’t a lot I don’t like about mothers day. Except the beginning and the end.
I want someone to quietly usher the kids out of my bedroom and then sneak them back in with breakfast on a tray. Then I want that someone to take us out for dinner, give the kids a bath and let me curl up with my book for the rest of the night while he handles bedtime.

I really don’t mind it 99% of the time. One day a year though I really, really, really want someone to share this job with.

Elizabeth loves anything Christmas. It’s May? Who cares, she wants to watch Santa baby. She loves summertime too though and has recently discovered H20 where three teen girls become mermaids anytime they get wet.

She had decided that she should just get candy for meals instead of anything with good nutritional value. Although she reminds me at the crack of dawn that she needs her “fruits and veggies” (aka juice plus).

She is a planner. I think she will be an event planner someday and will be filthy stinking rich. Because she is SO. DANG. GOOD. Creativity and details flow through her. Which is probably why she is ambidextrous.

She has two boyfriends in class, Caleb and Ayden. I wouldn’t mind either of them as my son in law.

She has started selling her art. To anyone that will listen to her. However, her giving spirit hasn’t faded. She made a gentleman’s day when she gave him a drawing with the words “I love you, Elizabeth” on top. He tracked me down later to thank me and tell me what a blessing my baby girl is.

Again, I don’t want to forget these things. I want these memories to stay. For always. Because so much is changing as I write these words.

It appears that there are two types of people in my church.

Let me set the scene for you.

Ryan is preaching on becoming bridge builders as opposed to becoming wall builders. He’s making great points, engaging his congregation as only he can with public speaking skills. Everyone is focused, jotting down notes, a few amens here and there.

And then. You hear it. The babbling and cooing from a child around 1 year of age.

And the two types of people become clear.

The parents who either have children that age or have not forgotten what that age was like.

And non parents or parents who have forgotten.
I fall in the first category. With my knowing smile, I remember that stage. I hope I never forget.

I may or may not have turned Nicki up this morning and sang my heart out while taking Colm to preschool…

One thing is for sure though. I flipped the mirror down to see if he was rockingb out with me.

He wasn’t.

In fact, his eyes were abnormally large.

I turned the music down.

“Hey Moose, what’s up?”

“Whoa mom. Loud. Ears.”

He proceeded to cover his ears.

I guess I’ll find another playlist for the Moose.