Most of the time Mother’s day makes me weepy. I can’t explain ohwaityesican….it’s because the babies are getting older. From my perspective, it’s the bittersweet day dedicated to actually thinking about your children (yes, I think about them other days…when I have energy to think)…I dwell on their birth…their life…their future graduation from law school…their marriage to Suri Cruise after she converts from Hubbard to Jesus…my old age and my impending death.
I do get weepy though. That part is true. It’s just that every single day as a mother of babies, you are waking up to crying, dealing with the highs and lows of day-to-day life, milking those moments of peace and trying to forget how many dirty clothes there really are, and through all that work and patience and exhaustion, there is pure and unadulterated joy. It’s living in front of you. creating more laundry. and making your eyes fill and flood over. It’s your children. And as much as people may say that mother’s day is about celebrating moms…it’s equally about celebrating what made a mom…it’s remembering the children…our living breathing joy!
This year I had double that. double the weeps. double the joy. double the highs.
That photo is a perfect representation of my mothers day. My sweet darling boyfriend made me breakfast in bed(room)…which Will ate and made me laugh when he told me in a tiger voice that I was ‘gorgeous’ and that he would share his food with me. His funny personality is so big sometimes I wonder how it fits in his little body. And of course, telling him “No…you are gorgeous!” is my favorite comeback. And he squeels with delight.
The day before (week before?) I had worked on a mother’s day event at our church. We go to a hipster church. That’s what I call it because there are men in skinny jeans on Sunday mornings and twinkle lights are hung everywhere. Jesus loves hipsters too I’m not cool enough for fedoras…so no offense hipsters.
And the event was great. It was just for women…it didn’t matter if you had a mom there or were a mom or just wanted to be a mom…it was celebrating the fine ladies in a community. I had helped out…which meant I did the photography, hosted three tables and helped cook the food, make corsages, and do setup and breakdown. I was sortof like assistant to the gal who was in charge. She’s now a new and fast friend…funny how working together will do that to ya. I told Jeremy that next time I need a stunt double because I was beat afterwards. It was a good beat. Like when you get a deep tissue massage and are sore from it but feel so much less tense. It took me all week to clean up the stuff I brought back home. And when I say a week…I mean, there might be still some dirty dishes from it still in my sink. (FUN PART: I recreated the tablesettings at home so I get to share them with you this week!)
The best part of Mothers day this year was two things. One…I got to be with my mom. She surprised me by being able to come to the brunch at church and between the crazy running-around moments, we got the chance to exchange face-to-face sentiments on how we feel through weepy eyes. Ten years ago or so we did a whole lot of much louder word exchange so for us to come full circle to be able to say the most flowery compliments ever is kind of a miracle. All you teenage girls reading this….your mama loves you more than you’ll ever know….and things eventually will get better…don’t lose hope. Enough said about that.
Two…we dedicated Weston.
The baby dedication kinda snuck up on us. I guess Jer and I were both thinking more about mothers day than baby dedication. But just being able to spend a few quiet moments with family and church friends praying for Weston and his future was really really special.
This is just a close up of that photo above. It was the best one we got. Jeremy is a chronic collar fixer. And that lady is the gal who is in charge of the childrens ministry at our church. Basically I am obsessed with her. She is so down-to-earth and honest and sweet.
That photo that they showed behind us was a recent one I snapped of Weston. He’s a bonafide sitter-upper. I love how squishy his body is…like one of those stress relievers…the ones that you have to squeeze repeatedly.
He’s trying to learn another new skill….the crawl. He pushes really really hard and is able to get his knees under him but then he pops them out straight.
Then he planks for a while…moves his feet back and forth but can’t seem to quite get brave enough to put the knees one in front of the other. This is his concentration look….which includes blowing bubbles…
(this is quickly becoming a baby Weston update, huh?!)
So in addition to his new skills, he is starting solids. Big (HUGE!) deal for me since I have loved breastfeeding this time around. There is no guarantee I will ever have another baby that does breastfeeding so easily and I get emotional thinking about the end of it…it was just really such a redemptive experience for me as a mom. I know we have more months to go before he stops nursing but it’s like the beginning of the end.
::dear Lord, someone get me a tissue::
I feel like just yesterday someone else was just learning to sit up and getting his first rice cereal….
Soon enough, it’ll be this little man playing in alleys and talking in tiger voices…
Oh sweet mother of tears, make it stop!
Let’s talk about something else.
How bout a quicky gift that is cheap and nice for moms out there. Hostas. In tiny baskets. With washi tape flags.
I scored these at a local growers outlet for cheap. The plants were $1 and the baskets were a quarter. Perfect price for giving to those special moms in your life (or aunts, neighbors, teachers, etc) that help mother us along.
Oh. And I forgot to tell you the most embarrassing thing. The church printed out the babies names in the sunday notes. It had their names and birth dates and parents. It was a nice little thing to put in Weston’s scrapbook. I brought it home and Jeremy casually mentioned that they got his birth date wrong. I was all like “WHAT?! no way. I told them the 17th. What did they put?” And then Jeremy was like “the 17th?! I thought he was born on the 18th!” and then I relentlessly made fun of him.
Long story short….I don’t know my own son’s birthday. the shame.