I woke up to breakfast burritos made selflessly by my husband who had a million things to do at church but chose to be home serving me. As soon as he rushed off there were little voices screaming at each other and slammed doors and proclamations that it was the worst day ever. And my grandfather is in the hospital so far away and my own mother with him. The floor needed to be swept and the dishwasher needed to be unloaded so the dishes piled in the sink, but we all needed to be at church on time, and preferably sane.
But then there were praises and roses and children singing and giving offerings and misbehaving on stage and the love of this larger family I've somehow become a part of.
There was a little girl setting the table, and a little boy trying to sweep the floor and calling me, "Princess Alyson". My busy preacher man, who carries everyone's burdens on his shoulders and who undoubtedly wonders why Mother's Day is on the busiest day of his week, spent hours on an amazing meal just for me.
There was a gift and homemade cards and one of the best meals I've ever eaten declared "gross" by the little ones, followed by a doze on the swing while everyone else cleaned up.
The dogs curled up together and the kids laughed in the treehouse and my baby boy said he was sorry my day wasn't perfect after he fought once again with his sister. What he doesn't know is that this is about as perfect as it gets here and his little heart already longs for something more.
And I'm looking forward to putting the kids to bed early tonight after all their late nights and early mornings this weekend. I'll curl up on the couch and watch Call the Midwife by myself because Taylor can't stomach all those women birthing babies. But then he'll join me for Revenge because he likes unrealistic TV, and I suspect he doesn't mind Emily Thorn either.
Happy Mother's Day!