Anything that can go wrong…will go wrong on Mother’s Day. I say this out of humor not bitterness. My sweet nine year old triplets and 16 year old daughter try so hard to make the day special, that mayhem ensues. Their motives are wonderful. Their results are, let’s just say, interesting.
For example, my sweet servant hearted son decided to dust the kitchen table for me before I woke up on Sunday. He sprayed half a bottle of orange oil onto the table without moving the placemats or jigsaw puzzle we were trying to complete as a family. Not only did I wake up to a pungent smell and slick table, but the puzzle pieces and placemats were affixed like glue to the tabletop. I just smiled and thanked him for his thoughtful gesture and vowed to myself to clean it up while he is at school on Monday.
Or, my sweet sixteen year old daughter who knows my love of family meals, woke up uncharacteristically early to make a special Mother’s Day breakfast. She set the table and made eggs and cinnamon rolls. I started to notice a burning smell fill the house and mentioned it to her. She replied that she had it under control. Shortly, I heard a commotion in the kitchen and she was holding the pan and running out the back door. My breakfast was on fire! I told her it was fine and not to worry, eggs would be perfect.
Finally, the triplets were making me cards on the kitchen floor. They had stamp pads opened and were decorating the cards with flower and heart stamps. The next thing I knew, one of my dear children stepped on a stamp pad and walked across the kitchen floor putting red footprints from one end to the other, oblivious to the mess they were creating. I calmly washed the dirty feet and mopped the floor. I gushed over the beautiful cards I received.
All this occurred before 7:30 am. I stumbled back to my bathroom to prepare for church and to have a moment to myself. I thought about how much each of my children love me and desire to show their love in tangible ways. I meditated on their thoughtfulness and desire to make my day special. As I reflected on how their plans had gone wrong in many ways, I was reminded that they need me. They are clearly incapable of some things, at this stage of their lives. I am necessary. Mother’s Day reminds me of that truth, and in a crazy way, that brings me an immense sense of fulfillment.
Though imperfect in many ways, my Mother’s Day was perfection. I was loved and needed. What more could I ask for?