My precious Momma. I am so thankful you are mine and ours. I have needed you to take care of me, guide me, love me and I always will. I'm so proud to call you mine.
We had lunch at Perini's with the Crew; including:
Richard, Virginia, Ma, and Madie
Lesley and Andy
The Hughes, Landon, and Lauren
The Bergs
& Us!
The company and food did not disappoint. We had such a fun time in fellowship and enjoying a beautiful May afternoon in Buffalo Gap, Texas.
My first heartbeat!!! She sat with her Aunt Lesley during Mother's Day lunch--fitting. They do have the same birthday and she adores her.
Alright Landry turned into the kissing monster!!!!
And she gave B some "sugar"!
This was Lauren's first Mother's Day. Landon and Lauren are expecting Baby Berg in October 2012. We are very excited for them and I get to be an Aunt :)!!!!!
Sweet Andy, tolerating my children and my sister, crazy family, and truly one of the best people I know. Laney and Landry prefer him to the rest of us!
Me and my M.
My girls!!!!
The Hughes and Landon and Lauren!
The best gift ever.
Inside was a plethora of pictures from the school year and written:
My mom should be a ballerina. She has brown eyes like me and she loves unicorns, and the color purple. She likes to read and eat macaroni and cheese. She is special because she always says "you are my sunshine".
Sweet, sweet Laney.
And I must include the story below. Most of you that read my blog probably received this via email. My precious friend Suzanne sent it and it is wonderfully written; perfectly said.
A Mother's Eye View of Mother's Day
We are sitting at lunch when she casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family". "We're taking a survey", she says, half jokingly. "So … what do you think? Should I have a baby?"
"It will change your life", I say carefully, keeping my tone neutral.
"I know", she says, "no more sleeping in on the weekend, no more last minute getaways or spontaneous trips..."
As I hear her talking on my mind is already a long
way down the road in my thoughts. What she is saying is not what I meant at all.
I look at my friend, and I am trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that while the physical wounds of child bearing heal, becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound of maternal sensitivity so deep that she will feel something like vulnerable forever. What do I mean?
She doesn't know it yet but she will never read a newspaper again without asking "what if that had been my child?" That every plane crash, every house fire, every missing child on a milk carton, will haunt her. I want to tell her that from then on, when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and her tailored suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is today, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. She will learn how fierce love can be.
She will also learn that a panicked, urgent call of 'mom!' will cause her to drop a whole plate of spaghetti or a cookie sheet full of cookies and come running without a moment's hesitation. I hope she will understand why she can think rationally about most issues now, she will become something like temporarily insane when she discusses the threat of bullying and schoolyard violence on her child's future.
I feel like I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her education and her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. It's just the way it is. She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important a business meeting and she will think about how sweet her baby smells after a bath … how those tiny wrinkled hands pull at her hair as she wrestles the child into a diaper. She will have to muster every ounce of her self discipline to keep from racing home, just to make sure all is well with her baby.
I want my friend to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a 5 year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major mothering dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and noisy children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that there might be someone in the men's room who might harm her son. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.
Looking at my attractive friend, I want to assure her that eventually, with great effort and strain, she can shed the pounds her pregnancy gave her, but she will never feel the same about herself. Her body will never be the same again.
I want to tell her that love for herself, for her very own life, her sense of self protection, will get dialed back considerably, more than she would have guessed. Her life, now so important to her, will be of much less value to her once she has a child. Because she will discover how readily she would give her own life up in a moment to save her child.
Then in something like a paradox, she will also begin to hope for more years of life for herself - not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs. I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks can become badges of maternal honor.
My friend's relationship with her husband will change as well, but not in the ways she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is always careful to powder the baby or gets up at the two o'clock feeding just to keep you company. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons that today she would consider very unromantic indeed.
I want to describe to my friend the sheer wonder of a child's first words. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want to speak of the great "aha" moment that comes when reading clicks in.
I want to tell her about the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike or the look on their face when they catch a ball for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts. My friends quizzical look makes me realize that tears are pooling in my eyes.
"You'll never regret it" I say finally. Then I reach across the table, squeeze her hand, and offer a silent prayer for my friend, and for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings…that blessed gift of God, that of being a mother.'
Being a mother is the most important job I've ever had and even though, as written, I stumble and worry I love my girls more than words will ever do justice.
