It was my first Mother's Day. 1989. Married less than a year with my stomach swollen around the growing love inside me.
Months before I had been sick, trouble holding even water down. With headaches that made me tug at my hair to ease the pain. He would leave mornings for work with me in the bathroom and he would come home evenings with me still on the floor of the bathroom, curled up in its corner of that first apartment of ours.
But she fluttered and moved and I surrendered to a love like no other.
But she fluttered and moved and I surrendered to a love like no other.
And on that first Mother's Day he brought me a camera. I remember the kiss.
There have been flowers and cards and food and little teabags in envelopes and gifts and breakfast in bed and a t-shirt with my first baby's handprints and hugs and kisses.
And three other surrenders.
And this year there was this.
A chocolate cake with fudge filling and buttercream icing. Made by you know who, with the fondant painted by Izzy. Real flowers on top - my favorite, tulips - in my favorite color.
Two handmade cards worth Hallmark's stock and more.
I know my children well. And right back at me they know me equally well.
They know what satisfies not only my sweet tooth - but my heart as well.
My gratitude list continues . . .
a day to celebrate mothers
tulips
handprints
singing prayers
rechargeable flashlights
"dadde, today I was a genpleman when I open door for Mommy"
planning with friends
kids laughing in the pool
a friend's tea
a sister's visit
banners
opaque projectors
the cool side of the pillow
my mama
"roses on my shoulder, slippers on my feet . . ."
My list, #'s 650-665.
