Mother’s day has quickly become my favorite holiday. I don’t even care. Those haters who are like “but mothers day is a commercialized holiday – we should be appreciating out mothers everyday..” yeah, well we aren’t. So we need a designated day in the yearly calendar to be made breakfast, drown in homemade gifts, and be told in writing how loved and wonderful we are. But to each their own here! You do you, and I’ll be over here eating sub-par breakfast and crying over my girls fill-in-the-blank cards that say things like “If my mom had more time she would: twirl around in her fancy dresses.” (You get me, Stella.)
In all seriousness though, I tease a lot about gifts and Mr. Miller stepping things up – but this year looked a lot like every single other Sunday. Running late to church trying to get my girls hair done, shoes found, snack bags packed. Walking a fussy baby through the halls of church, teaching my young women’s class, hurrying home to feed hungry bellies, rocking the baby to sleep, tidying up the house for the dinner we were hosting, and hitting my bed that night full-hearted, and exhausted.
Mother’s day was not, and never is, a day-off for me. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. This work I’m doing is work I wondered if I’d ever be able to do. It doesn’t always seem magical in the moments, but as I have time to process it all and think about it, I see the everyday miracles of my life in every little moment raising these babies of mine.
I love Mother’s Day for what it represents to me; that I am a mother. That my heart’s utmost wishes came true in the form of four darling children.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Harlo, Stella, Grae, and Major,
I love being your mother EVERY SINGLE DAY.
Don’t you ever forget it.
(P.S. Mr. Miller did get wise and ordered from my handy email. I hope you had as much luck!)