All that is good in me I have from my mother.
I have always questioned the easy sentimentality of Mother's Day -- the cards and flowers and boxes of chocolate. How can they compare to the labor, the tearing pain, the sleepless nights, the worries, the wonder, the joy, the love? A bit of us breaks free with every child, to be carried on in their hearts. We cry a river of tears over each one. And as much as we make them into the persons they will become, they make us as well. We are who we are because of our mothers and because of our children. How do you say that in a card?
Of course I cherish each flower, each breakfast in bed, each sentiment scrawled in crayon across a piece of construction paper. But I hold in my heart the smiles and the tears, the hugs and the trials, the whole of my life as a mother. I met a wonderful man, we fell in love, and he gave me two beautiful children. I am so very blessed.
Happy Mother's Day, dear bloggers!