Mother Joy

We ordered egg and bacon rolls and coffee for six – Andy and I and four of our grown-up kids – then took our food to the empty food court – the morning was early – where we tucked into our Mother’s Day breakfast.

Eggs dripped, fingers were licked and coffee sipped. After the last mouthfuls of roll had disappeared, we built a wobbly tower of empty boxes and added a cup and even a wrapper.

And I took loads of photos of everyone laughing, being silly, being us.

And then, on our way back to our cars, we rode the travellator, shooting off at the bottom in spectacular ways. A woman, witnessing our jumps and landings, arms out wide, knees up high, grinned as she walked by, sharing in the joy of the moment.

Later in the day, my girls dragged a big bag of wrapped gifts towards me, and I grinned and said, “I feel like it’s my birthday!” I tore the paper from all the parcels, revealing loads of things chosen with care: shower gel and body lotion, an excellent bottle of expensive wine, a silver coffee travel mug with a pink top, clothes, including a surprise green crocheted cardigan that Imogen finished the day before. Looking at my family’s grins, my lap filled with gifts, I felt very loved.

I also felt like an imposter. Surely only a brilliant mother would be worthy of all the love reflected in the attention and gifts I’d received? But then I remembered: love isn’t about perfection. Love is doing our best, trying again when we fail, and being willing to forgive.

I phoned my mother: “Happy Mother’s Day! I love you with all my heart.”

A heart full of joy.

Mother joy: that’s what I felt on Mother’s Day.

How about you? I hope you felt blessed too.