You can Have Christmas

Looking at all of the many, many holiday's that we celebrate during the year, I can think of none I enjoy more then Mother's Day.  This is a totally selfish confession.  In fact, not one that supports the virtues that we as mother's are celebrated for at all.  Regardless, you can take Christmas, Easter, Valentines, and the 4th of July out of my celebration rotation.  Mother's day is where it's at.   I should clarify that I am only speaking of the pagan rah rah of these holidays.  I would, in fact not trade the birth of Jesus or the independence on our country for a few hours of guilt free pampering.  But, the days, weeks, months, of shopping, crafting, planning, baking and discussing that comes with the rest of the hoildays would not be missed.


Mother's day is a beautiful day.  First off, it is always on a Sunday.  Unlike Birthdays that often require I put in a lot of work to help the kids celebrate me, Dad is always home.  No one questions that I stay in bed way longer then everyone else.  When I wake up, no one expects me to make breakfast.  There is even breakfast waiting for me!  And there are beautiful home made cards that say lovely things like "thank you for taking care of me, I love you".  There are perfect and hilarious portraits of me with arms as thick as tree trunks wearing fancy dresses and an enormous umbrella smile.  I get to wear garish mom bling made from giant rainbow colored beads and foam letters.  I get to hide out and read, write and take a much too long shower.  No one questions me.  It is my day.

(side note: Amelia and Jack are not abandon at shore, but in the care of loving grandparents)

Yesterday was perfect.  After a long winter's wait, we finally put our kayak in Lake Cushman for the first time ever.  The sun was out and the clouds had taken sabbatical.  The Lake felt as icy as the snowcapped olympics.  Life felt perfect.  

Just ask Jack.....

Now, flash forward three hours to the car ride back to Tacoma and ask Jack again.  Go ahead, ask him. No.  Wait a minute, he can't answer.  He is busy vomiting into my cupped hands.  And there, just as magically as it began, it all ended.  There in lies the real mother's day.  Just as generations parents have told their jealous children "everyday is kids day".  Everyday is mother's day too.  For better or for worse, I'll take them all.