|A picture of the lovely breakfast my kids prepared for me.|
Mother's Day is the most glorious day of the year in our house. Mr. Man and the kids spoil me and I look forward to their love notes, which is my favorite gift.
After a sugar laden breakfast prepared by the kids, topped off with chocolate croissants from Mr. Man. We went off to church, where the children sang a medley of songs about mothers. I'm actually in charge of the children in our church, so I was the one who was wrangling them up on the stand to sing. After the children sang, my beautiful boy exited the stage and proceeded to walk on his knees all the way across the chapel on his knees to the pew in the back. I was mortified, he was not.
Later, during Sunday School, my sweet boy pulled out the chair from a kid who was about to sit down. The child hit his head, and I spent spent the rest of the Sunday Service soothing the injured child and seething. How on earth am I going to stay sane raising my Always-the-Comedian Mr. Boy?
A pounding headache was rounding out mother's day, and I decided to take to my bed. I laid down, closed my eyes, and missed my mother.
When I woke up, there were Mr. Boys apologetic big blue eyes inches from mine. There was a tearful apology from him, followed by a fabulous dinner prepared by Mr. Man.
That night as I checked on the kids before going to bed, I stopped and pondered the miracle that these children are mine. I thought about their birthmothers who had given me the gift of motherhood and admired their courage. Out of all the people in the world, they chose me to be the mother of their child. As I ran my fingers through the kids tousled hair, I remembered that these kids are the reason Mother's day is the most glorious day.