It is almost 1pm and I am still sitting here in my pj's. I asked for three things for Mother's day; to be able to sleep in (10:15 I woke up), to not have to drive anywhere, and for a massage gift certificate (got two).

My day is complete.


But there have been many mother's days that were so much less than complete. It is one of the great ironies of my life that although my professional life is devoted to the care of children, I was unable to conceive any. For many years we went through the roller coaster of basal body temps, crazy making hormonal therapies, more laproscopes than I can remember, and severe debilitating depression before landing right where we belong with two beautiful children that came to us through adoption. Their stories of arrival in our family are so profound as to leave no doubt that they are the children we were destined to have.

We had our share of sad mother's days. Some of those mother's day Sunday services were excruciatingly painful to sit through. It doesn't seem like a service to cry through, but I certainly have done it more than once. Now, I look for the woman with the pained expression on her face and hope that her journey soon turns the corner.

It doesn't help at all that my own mother and I have a distant and at times hostile relationship. Her issues and mine had a deadly collision many years ago. Although I believe in grace, this will most likely not heal in this life. Honestly, I have given up trying.

As the years go by this holiday, like so many, is colored by memories of people I love who are now gone. My godmothers who have either moved away or on and the ones who have died are in my thoughts today.

But make no mistake, today's mother's day is good.

The sick baby in our family is doing better and has been sent home with his parents. My children made the cliched breakfast in bed and it. was. yummy. The children have now left for activities of their day, secure in knowing that we love each other enough to allow the freedom to be ourselves even on this holiday of potential emotional blackmail. Loads and loads of laundry are being done and I feel a maternal sense of accomplishment over that mundane chore.

This is the mother's day of my dreams.