On Any Sunday

Sundays around here are like religious holidays without the religion. They have been deemed motocross appreciation days by the dirt bike riding afficienados in the family, aka Big Jim and Little Jimmy. Sad to say, but Jimmy has never seen the inside of a church unless you count the time he was baptised when he was a baby. A friend of mine goes to church on Saturdays which might work out nicely for us except that is the day the boys have to prepare for their Sunday riding, getting the bikes cleaned and loaded and gear washed. Unless there is an act of God, rain sometimes cancels. But, through the years with Jim, I have learned not to plan things on a Sunday. Even things like Easter or Mother's Day. Funny how Father's Day always works out in his favor and he gets to go riding.

So yesterday was kind of Mother's Day for me. Saturday, May 9th. First I should mention, Mother's Day has always bummed me out. My grandpa Cliff died on Mother's Day when I was 12. So, since then, I've never been a big fan. But, yesterday, I got to do things I wanted to do like go to garage sales and to a friend's party at her store in Windsor--kid free.

My Saturday kind of mother's day started out with cartoons in bed with the kids. Jimmy brought me a beautiful card he made at school and later Jim brought me coffee in bed. I will paraphrase some of the card:

"First I love how you always say you love me and how you argue. But I know you can't help it. I love how you give me things. I love how you cook and I love how you care for me and my brother."

Of course it made me cry. And Jimmy was there to give me a hug and tell me, "this is the fifth time you've cried this week, mom".

Thank you Jimmy for silently keeping track of how much your mother cries. And thanks for telling me in my card that you love how I argue. I hope these are things he will choose not to remember about his childhood that will require years on a therapist's couch. At least he left out the part where I scream a lot. I don't think there was enough room in his card. What a mother. Then I think, it wasn't supposed to be this hard to be a mother. And then I think, yes it was. Think of all of the other mother's in this world who have had it much worse and more tragic than I. I really am lucky to have what I have. And once we can figure out what is wrong in Dominic's brain and the cause of these seizures, I will feel so much better about things. Even if it's bad news, at least I will know. Right? I am going to be hopeful.

So as I sit in bed this morning on Mother's Day with the Doodle pointing to his head over and over which means put my helmet on so I can get down, I am going to quickly reflect on some things I love about being a mom:

It is great that the Doodle claps his hands when I walk into the room. Who else gets a standing ovation just for making an appearance?

Watching Jimmy turn into a young man with giant feet.

Trying to teach the boys manners; to be grateful and polite and my indomitable spirit to not give up on them.

To rejoice in the breakthroughs I witness in Dominic, no matter how big or small they might be.
Having hope.

Getting to be the one to say things like, "because I said so that's why" and, "what do you think, money grows on trees?".

Documenting their childhood. Keeping track of mementos, writing in their baby books, saving favorite baby items and scrapbooking pictures and journaling about the boys growing up, to help me always remember. (oh yeah, and them too)

Cutting the pink box tops off of boxes and sending them into the school.

Being needed.
Feeling loved. Unconditionally.

I'm sure there is more, I'm just too tired to think right now. So, I will end this post with a Happy Mother's Day to all of the beautiful mother's in my life who do so much.

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