Was it me, or did Mother’s Day this year seem…I don’t know, weightier than usual? I found the phrase “Happy Mother’s Day” being tossed about like confetti and I’m guilty of sprinkling about a handful or two of those sincere wishes myself.
It’s seems so long ago, my first Mother’s Day. 1997. I guess that makes this my silver anniversary of being a mom. Sometimes it’s hard to remember when I was only responsible for myself. It’s been a long time.
I’ve enjoyed this holiday weekend. I ate well, took some long (2+hours) walks with Jeter, (almost)finished a house project, took care of deck and porch flowers, stumbled upon an irresistible deal that makes me smile each time I see it, ran for the first time in months, and stole lilacs every chance I could.
On Friday, my sons took me out for Mexican food and we had a great dinner and evening. Over the weekend I received texts and thoughtful gifts along with a card that made me tear up. It was rewarding to be acknowledged and indulged, but even more satisfying was the evidence of maturity and independence I detected in each of my three sons.
That, that’s the shit.
Moments like that are what make all of the effort and energy and expense and exasperation an investment that can feel like the best use of resources in the world.
After all my chores were done this afternoon, I changed into an outfit which reminded me that a sliver of shoulder and a bare neck can be sexier than an exposed abdomen or cleavage. I put on earrings, a bracelet and my beloved engagement ring. And lipstick.
Jeter and I walked for hours making our way to the glorious tulip beds in Washington Park. I ran into a few friends, inhaled lilacs and strolled at my own leisurely pace for miles. There was no schedule or demands on my time. I felt relaxed.
Right now, my hands feel dreadfully dry, my feet somewhat sore and my hips a familiar degree of achy. I’m eating some Ben & Jerry’s as I finish my current episode of The Crown before my hot bath. I predict bathtub dozing off and will fill the tub to an according depth.
When I finally crawl underneath the happiest the duvet that I’ve ever seen, I will do so with a sense of exhaustion that can only be described as sweet and a fullness that comes from far more than 10 minutes alone with a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.
It’s been a lovely weekend. Hell, it’s been a pretty great 25 years.
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