We had a relatively uneventful Mother's Day (which goes along with our relatively uneventful Easters and Christmases and so on due to the nature of the hubby's business). The whole preacher gig puts a damper on family festivities. We put on the Ritz for everyone else, become a part of their holiday traditions at the expense of our own. But that was part of the gig. We get it. We signed up for it.
So, no cards. No presents. No brunch.
Instead, I taught Sunday School, grabbed a bite to eat at a fish market and then took a long, mostly blissful nap.
Nap. Yes. Me. I don't get naps. It was a luxury of pregnancies. Err, rather, a luxury of my first pregnancy. So for four hours on a Sunday, I tried to block out the screaming children that my husband seemed barely able (or particularly qualified to) contain. And I napped.
If there is one thing I am certain of in this life, it is that I am a good mom. I am solid. My kids love me. I love them. Eventually my children will make me macaroni necklaces and burned toast. In the meantime, I will take the nap.