Mother's Day - Post mortem

Everyone else is doing it on their blog today, and since I easily give in to peer pressure, I figured I would do the obligatory post mortem of Mother's day.

First off - let the record state (you'd be proud of me JennyMac for my lawyery words)

I had a FANTASTIC Mother's day and in fact weekend.  FAN-FREAKIN-TASTIC!!

Splenda has never let me down.  He has always made sure that his Mom is honored, that I am honored and that my sons at least acknowledge me. : )   I've no complaint there my friends.  I really did marry the Ken to my Barbie (even though I'm not really barbie-esque)  And really, the boys have ALWAYS made the day special for me.  I am certainly not ever going to complain about how I am treated on Mother's day.  I am a friggin QUEEN!

So what of Mother's day then anyway?  Saturday, we did our Race for the Cure.  We saw Ironman2.  We went to the Jazz game.  All were so much fun and I loved being with my boys even though, I don't think I saw Tuffy at all that day.

Sunday was delightful.  I slept in.  I think I made it to 6:30.  Which, in every day life, is totally sleeping in. 

I read blogs, I created posts, I read the paper, I did my 4 crossword puzzles that had stacked up.  I snuggled in bed.  I drank a Monster.  I ate a doughnut for breakfast.

And then.

It's time to go to church.

Let the record further state:  I hate church on Mother's day.

I have from the time I WAS FIRST a mother.  I can't stand all that stupid, cheesy crap!  I know.  I'm totally going to hell for it.  But really, I do.  When my kids were younger, I would sit and listen and then beat the sh** out of myself because I was such a crappy mom who wasn't any of the things that they talked about.

While a speaker raved about sewing skills, and being at home with cookies after school, and special homework projects, and helping with piano and reading scriptures and family home evening.....all I would think about is how I yelled loud enough at my boys as we left for church to have burst a blood vessel in my left eye.  And wondering if he would still "learn his lesson" if I smacked him again once we got home.

As another speaker might honor his/her mother with lovely poems including sunshine, butterfly kisses and unicorns pooping rainbows, I was strangling myself because my house was messy, my laundry undone, the kids rooms were disasters, and there was some sort of smell coming from the disposal I couldn't figure out.

Maybe one year a grown adult Mother would talk about her joys of Motherhood.  The rich blessings it brought into her life.  All the cute things her kids said.  How well behaved they were at home, school and during meetings.  She would verbally wonder what she had ever done to deserve the precious angels she had.  How smart, and obedient, and service oriented the little darlings were. 

I would stare out the window, ignoring the ruckus the boys were making and secretly wish I could go home and drown my sorrows in liquor. 

Don't get me started on the DH's that would get a chance to speak about how wonderful their wives were.  How perfectly patient, helpful, loving and kind they all were.  They served in their church callings, worked at the school, kept the house immaculate, taught piano to their children, and still managed to make sure their husband's needs were all met.

I would laugh under my breath, think about what Splenda might be doing at work that day, and then steal more treats from my kids treat bag.

You see..... I never once measured up to all those wonderful things that get spouted at the pulpit every Mother's day at church.  Nope.  Never.  There were some years, that I was so convinced I was an utter failure, that I wouldn't even GO to church that week.  It was too much to take.

This year was different.  I could sit through it and not want to throw up.  I actually enjoyed the young men who spoke so beautifully of their Mom's.  I loved the little primary kids going up on stage to sing to their mommy's.  I even enjoyed the DH who spoke such kind things about his wife.

What happened?  What changed?

I did.  I grew up. 

I never learned to sew, I don't play piano, can't even help with homework, and we all know my lack of cooking a decent meal.  I worked full time and juggled the duties of Mom so...no, I wasn't always at the crossroads. 

My sons did not all learn music, earn their Eagle Scouts or their Duty to God awards.  Not all have served missions in the church or even still attend church.

But -  I.am.not.a.failure.

I love my boys and they know it.  They know I would give my very life for them even if I was calling them a dumbass at the same time.  I would die on the sword for them.  They know it.  And I know they know it.

That is enough for me.

They are smart, funny, responsible men.  They are kind to me, respect me and look out for me.  Their father has taught them the value of women in their lives and they follow his lead.

They laugh with me, cry with me, and sometimes, just come and lay down by me.  If for no other reason than to just be in the same room next to each other.

They are my best friends.

My gifts were simple, from the heart and the cards and love notes are special enough to me, that they ain't going on the blog.  They are staying in my secret drawer.  That's just for me.  

I am their Momma.  I am loved.  That is enough to know that I did alright.

So Mother's Day?  Meh - I think I can handle you now.