Anatomy of a Real Mothers' Day

A sentiment I've heard from many a mother: "Mothers' Day is never what you think it should be. You read sweet things on greeting cards and hear accolades over the church pulpit, all the while feeling guilty for losing your temper, comparing yourself to other women, and wishing your kids would just behave and get along for one single day!"

What I've learned for myself: "That's not what Mothers' Day is about. It's not for all the stars to align on the second Sunday of May. It's about taking a day to reflect on and be grateful for motherhood. Things will happen just like on any other day, so just dig in and celebrate your life for what it is."

So, I give you... a real Mothers' Day--2011.

6 something a.m. Listen to Taylor drive off to his Mom's house so he and his brother can surprise her with breakfast in bed like when they were kids. Roll over and feed the baby some more.

8:30 a.m. Peel myself out of bed and hop in the shower. Get out to the sounds of Taylor whipping up something in the kitchen and the boys getting up. Dash around the house like mad to get everyone ready for church in an hour. Put on my favorite shoes and think of Cookie. {She bought them for me on my last visit with her.}

9:43 a.m. With all three boys plus the neighbor kid in tow, depart for church with cheese, bananas, coffee cake, and cold milk on the center console of the mini-van.

10:45 a.m. Friend behind me during the church meeting gets my attention and whispers, "Blaine is coloring on his shoes!" I look over to see that, in deed, he has stopped working on the puppy dog coloring book and has successfully colored all of the white squares on his checkered vans red. I look at him incredulous. "I thought it would look nice," he says with a sheepish grin. Awesome. We have a budding Alexander McQueen in the family. "Please consult me the next time you decide to redesign your shoes," I whisper back, wondering what the consequence should be. (Still wondering.)

10:48 a.m. Look down to see that Roger is using the same red crayon to color on the carpet. "Stop!" I whisper loudly. "What are you doing?!" He replies, as he points to Blaine, "He made me do it." Awesome. Roger wails as Taylor pulls the crayon out of his hand. I carry him out of the chapel.

1:30 p.m. Return home from church to get busy in the kitchen. Taylor makes a zillion enchiladas and strawberry rhubarb pie for his mom while I make strawberry pie for mine. As I stand at the counter in my apron, I smile. Countless memories of rolling out pie crust and preparing fresh strawberries with my mother flood my mind.

4:00 p.m. The boys get squirrely and start pulling and snitching at Taylor's pie crust dough. I scurry them out of the kitchen, roll out a long sheet of paper, plop the bucket of markers on the ground and announce, "This is to wrap your grandmother's gifts. Color away!" I smile as I get back to my pie, patting myself on the back and thinking, "mothering just takes quick thinking and creativity."

4:13 p.m. Lightening strikes me for my pride. The boys are yelling. Roger has scribbled on Blaine's picture and Blaine has taken revenge by coloring on the back of Roger's nicest shirt. Punishments are given. Boys wail, scream, and kick. A temporary ban of crayons and markers is announced.

5:00 p.m. Dinner with my family. Enchiladas, tomales, bean dip, and dessert galore. Conversations about beekeeping, famous pianists, Dad's newest calf that won't eat, the latest Twilight movie, and breastfeeding. I give Mummy her gift, which she adores. I try to get her away from the sink, where she is scrubbing dishes. She refuses. Classic.

6:20 p.m. Cousin Sophie comes upstairs to announce that Rog peed all over his pants and the floor. I look at Taylor with my best "it's Mothers' Day" smile and he goes down to clean it up.

7:15 p.m. We arrive at my husband's family dinner to find all of the women sitting upon thrones. I take my place with them.

8:00 p.m. I give my mother-in-law her gift. She weeps.

8:15 p.m. I sit with Jared Carter on my lap. He coos and smiles and loves me.