For Mother’s Day

e167A couple of years ago Joel (who is usually such a thoughtful gift giver) got me some bushes for Mother’s Day.  I was so mad.  Who wants bushes they were going to buy anyway– for Mother’s Day??

This is what I want this year:

I want to be here next year.  I want to be a mom to my boys for the next 50 years.  I want to be the one that peels their boogers from the wall, and cuts the brown parts off of their apples.  I want to watch them fall off the monkey bars dozens of times and remind them not to give up.  That one day their strong arms will carry them all the way across.  I want to catch glimpses of them in the backyard saving worms from the rain, and building boobytraps out of sticks.  I want to bring Popsicles to their school and watch them play tag on the playground.  I want to be the one at the dentist that holds their hand, and the one watches their eyes get heavy listening to bedtime stories, read by me.  I want to be here.

I want to wrap them in towels after swimming in the ocean.  And smell the salt and sun on their skin.  To hold their hands in parking lots for as long as they let me.  I want to watch them play catch with Joel, and see their faces light up when he chases them and spins them in the air.

I want to be the one who hears Alex ask: “what can we do for the homeless?”  And who watches Andy greet the neighbors in the morning by name.  I want to see who they become.  To be the one who supports them down whichever path they choose.

I want to teach them about love.  To hold them when their hearts are broken, and to watch them soar when their hearts are full.  I want to teach them how to drive.  To make sure they know the consequences of crossing the center line.  To tell them how in an instant everything can change.

I want to make sure they know to hold the door for strangers, and to notice when people need a hand.  To let them know that changing the world, sometimes looks like sitting with the kid who is eating alone.

I want to be here to show them that even when terrible and scary things happen, you can survive.  You can make it.  I want to tell them about how good people can be.  About all the things they will do for you when you are open, and honest, and willing to accept help.

I want to watch them read books, and challenge their thoughts.  I want to give them every opportunity to make connections and to gain intelligence.  And then I want to teach them about the magic of turning those brains off.  About closing their eyes and lifting their heads to the sun, and just feeling their way through.  I want them to wonder about rainbows, breezes and butterflies, and to believe in things that cannot be seen, or proved.

I want them to fight for those who are not treated equally.  I want them to notice.

I want to show them what soulmates look like.  For them to see how much I adore and admire their father.  For them to know that time and age should never stop the hand-holding, or date-going.

I want to see them kayak with my dad, and learn how to make chicken soup with my mom.

For Mother’s Day, I just want to be here.  I want to see it all.


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