A sweet neighborhood mom friend of mine wrote this post regarding Mother’s Day and the truth behind what most mothers feel. I absolutely loved it and couldn’t have said it better myself. Thank you Robin for writing such a poignant piece on the reality of what Mother’s Day should mean. Love, love, love it!

Her original post can be seen here, but I copied her article because I couldn’t wait to share it. Go show her some love. ~Kat

http://printjunkie.tumblr.com/post/50257845923/the-mothers-day-secret

The Mother’s Day Secret

My goal for motherhood is fairly simple: I want my children to walk through life secure in the knowledge that they are precious and loved. A child who feels love gives love to others. Teens who know their worth can say no to peer pressure when I’m not around. A young person will have the courage to really go after their dreams. An adult will do the hard, but right, thing and raise their own family with love. An on it goes…

But I knew all that before I had kids. What I didn’t know was how incredibly easy is to love your children. How that love can overwhelm you in weirdest places – church Christmas pageants, swim lessons, the restroom of Target. Usually the most public and embarrassing places possible. I will just tear up, and my kids will look at me all worried, and they too young to explain that I am overwhelmed at the simple joy of them. The very fact of their sweet existences.

Is every moment like that? No, of course not. Do I get frustrated, stumped, and tired by them? Lord yes. But I get why older people always swoon over my kids. Because I have feeling you forget all that. And, if you do remember the hard stuff when you get older, I think it becomes inconsequential. Because all those teary-eyed moments were the good stuff. The stuff we hang onto. I think that’s what they mean by their admonishments to cherish these years.

And I do.

Before I met my husband and had my kids, I wished for them. On every penny I threw into a fountain. On every star. At every birthday. And here they are today knocking themselves out to give me the perfect Mother’s Day, complete with enough quiet time to write this post. While I do love and certainly appreciate all the little gifts of Mother’s Day, the fact that this day is mine to celebrate at all is what makes it for me. That I have the responsibility of loving each of them is my gift.

That’s the secret of all mothers, I think. The depth of our love is really known only to us, no matter how much or how many ways we try to convey that love to our children. They will never really know or understand why we started crying when they sang, or clapped, or pooped in that Target potty. How that was our good stuff. But mostly they don’t know how their love filled us up so as mothers we suddenly became women secure in the knowledge that we were precious and loved, how amazing it was, and how they did it naturally – without any goal-setting at all.