Dear my kids. So it’s that time of year again when the ads all tell you that you need to get me flowers/candy/expensive-spa-treatments for Mother’s Day, because then I’ll know you REALLY love me.
You are hereby absolved from buying me anything in an effort to tell me you really love me. I know you love me, darling. I know it to my core, lucky me.
Instead, write me a letter; tell me what it’s like to be my kid or tell me what you appreciate about me. Go for a walk with me, let me hold your hand again, just for a little bit, like I did when you were little. Or let’s pop some popcorn, pull the Junior Mints out of the freezer and have a Jane Austen movie marathon!
Time, you know, time and knowing what’s in your heart, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. The best gifts cannot be wrapped.
Oh, I loved it when you brought me breakfast in bed when you were little. Mostly I loved to hear you clanking around in the kitchen downstairs. You were so proud of your efforts – I loved that. And the handmade cards? I still have them.
When you get down to it, YOU are the best gift I ever received. Just you. No flowers or candy or breakfast in bed required. You changed my life, children of mine. You blew life and color and noise and joy into my every day and I thank God for it. Thank God for you.
Happy Mother’s Day to me.