Post Mother's Day Reminisce

Nick's First Grade photo

Our youngest son, Nick, all grown up, with his lovely wife Casandra
on his graduation from college

Mother's Day never quite lives up to expectations placed upon it by advertisers and those hawking their wares and trying to make consumers think that motherhood has anything to do with diamonds, flowers, chocolates or spa days.

I'm in that no-man's land where my own mother has died and my sons are grown men leading lives a continent away from their old Mom. While making the morning coffee, I looked out of the window and across the green yard of our Florida home. Now, our boys were raised up North, and yet, I could see my babies clinging to our hands and raising their feet off of the ground to keep the grass from tickling their bare feet. The trust that their dad and I would hold them safe. Hold them while they lifted off from this earth....

My big he-men sons will always be my sweet babies. One who couldn't say 'feet' changed our vocabulary forever and those appendages at the ends of our legs will forever be 'peet.' Thank you Nick.

Or my darling first born who has a prodigious vocabulary (at an early age) because his chattery mother talked to him nonstop throughout the day. He helped me pass words and love of them to his brother.

He was with me when I cooked. His carrier sat on the counter beside me while I rolled out dough or stirred up casseroles and all of the time I explained what I was doing and showed him utensils and named them and gave him big wooden spoons to wave around. And when bigger he learned to take that spoon and bang on the pots and pans.

Everywhere I looked I could see them bringing me handsful of dandelions that Grandpa helped them pick in his retirement goal of eradicating his yard of those darn yellow flowers. The grins, the arms

Dave (our first born) with his little cousin Lizzie

reaching for me. The hugs. The slobbery kisses. The heads resting on my shoulder as the body went limp in sleep, trusting me totally to hold and protect. The why stage. The potty training. The 'eating bushes' introduction to broccoli and Bill Cosby. Later listening to the Disney albums of their blockbuster musicals such as Robin Hood. And the boys insisting that they must listen to the Hobbit album during lunch because it was about food.

"Blunt the knives, bend the forks
Smash the bottles and burn the corks
Chip the glasses and crack the plates
That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

But they particularly liked the song that included bones and blistering skin and goblins....

Dave and his lovely wife Shell

We sat together and read. In fact the first photo of our newborn firstborn involved reading a book to him. Throughout the years we learned about Dooley and the Snortsnoot and The Giant Jam Sandwich, and every dinosaur, Curious George, and Dr. Suess book ever written. Trips to the library were a treat and seeing them curled up in the most uncomfortable ways with a book propped in front of them....

Their Easter photos with cropped pants and slicked back hair and sweet smiles spreading across faces under which big bow ties bobbed.

I miss my babies, I miss my boys, but their memories are always right here with me, tucked safely in my heart. And I am so very proud of the men they have become. Genuine original strong determined, funny and kind, thoughtful and caring, unselfish and driven by conscience rather than gold. I am so blessed. So very blessed. And thankful that they forgave me for those Easter outfits that I made for them so many years ago. (Sorry, I need to dig out those Easter photos. Maybe another post....)