There. I said it.

I don't like Mother's Day. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm unbelievably thankful for all of my mothers... {{The one who gave birth to me and then being amazingly selfless, chose adoption and gave me to another... The one who prayed endlessly for me to come into her life, then gave me a childhood most people only dream of having... And the one who through patience, love, and  undoubtedly lots of prayer raised my husband to be a respectful, loving, sensitive, strong, and Godly man... I am crazy-thankful for these women.}} but seriously, I don't like Mother's Day.

There's so much pressure. So many expectations (is it just me, or does everyone expect to not have to give kids baths or vacuum out the car on Mother's Day?) and often times (in my life anyway) it just doesn't work like that. Our morning wasn't ideal, by any means. It wasn't the typical breakfast-in-bed-and-handmade-cards that you think of when "Mother's Day" is near. 

But really, not liking Mother's Day has nothing to do with the fact that mine was different than "normal" or less than what I had expected. (We did go to Portland and had a wonderful afternoon with my parents and brother.) I don't like Mother's Day because I find so much more joy in every day than could ever possibly be packed into one day with a "Mother's" label on it (throw up in your mouth if you have to, but it's true for the most part).

Every time I hear my kids laughing with each other, it's more beautiful to me than a bouquet of flowers. When my husband randomly tells me he knows it's not an easy job, but he really appreciates how hard I work for our family, it's better than runny eggs and burned toast served on a platter in bed.

I realize that when I really think about it, getting woken up at 4:00am to change wet sheets, give a hug, and whisper, "it's no big deal" to one of my children doesn't make Mother's Day "less-than." It makes every single day Mother's Day because every day I am nothing but blessed to just get to be my kids' Mommy.

Learning Something New

I found something out this weekend... My Mom knows how to knit!

WHO KNEW!?

Not me, or I wouldn't have spent countless hours on you-tube watching tutorials on how to do it and then trying to click the mouse to pause the video with needles and yarn tangled between my fingers.

She walked in our house on Saturday, saw my knitting stuff in my basket and exclaimed, "Karey! You're knitting!? I know how to do that!" And just started off with some yarn. My jaw hit the ground. She does know how! But later, when she claimed that she could also still rock at roller skating if she wanted to, I didn't take her quite so serious. {We'll have to see that one proven, Mom.}

A few minutes later, while she's cruising along with some extra needles and yarn that I have, she asked to see what I've done so far. Apparently, this is where I should have just taken a seat. But I didn't. I excitedly grabbed my roll (ball?) of yarn with my start-of-a-scarf attached and proudly lift it up so she could see.

{This is after I pulled out most of it, but you get the idea. It wasn't pretty.}

She exploded into laughter. And not the I'm-laughing-with-you kind. The other kind.

Even though she knows I'm just beginning, she couldn't help but look at my work and bust a gut. Apparently it's just that pathetic. {I'll admit, I was wondering what I was doing wrong, but you-tube doesn't have a question-and-answer tutorial for knitting mess-ups so I just kept plugging away at it hoping it would end up looking better. It didn't.}

So, after the laughing died down and I was done taking pictures of my lame misshaped scarf-start my Mom helped me see what I was doing wrong, and then got me started on a new scarf.

All-in-all a good afternoon (especially since laughing burns calories). I learned something new about my Mom, and she got to teach me (yet again) something new as well (how to knit in a straight line which, apparently, is crucial to a successful  knitting experience).

Thank you, Mom.