Honestly, this will sound really cheesy, especially since I consider my children as some of my most devoted blog readers.
But I can't stop myself.
On Mother's Day, my children always kick in with calls and cards and gifts and visits. And every year, I want to give them something. Truly. What a gift their being is to me.
Parents are supposed to be children's first teachers, right? I'm sure I was that, but seriously? They taught me. Again and again, they taught me. I learned who I wanted to be by becoming their mother.
With parenting, I finally grew up. I got patience and perspective. It's fairly humbling when your little girl whispers, "Mom, be nice!" when you want to settle the score at the Customer Service counter. It's fairly awkward when she mimics you and you hadn't thought you even found your voice or learned your worth. Her admiration, today, of me is palpable and slightly unwarranted but so very valued.
And with my boys, geez! They so honestly and completely depended on me for all their basics, like food and fun. They taught me that enthusiastic eating isn't gluttony, that running hard and beating out the competition is just good clean fun. That being organized with attention to detail and being manly are not mutually exclusive choices. That growing up a boy and being a man isn't a free pass, that it has its own challenges, and that those hurdles are different than mine, but real and constant.
On this day, I'm grateful for my beautiful mom and I'm so overwhelmingly emotional when I consider the blessings that are my perfectly wonderful children.