Happy Mother

It might not come as a surprise to you that I was an avid journalizer as a child. There is a trunk of my writing in our temporary storage unit. Future generations will sorrowfully reflect on what a terrible childhood I experienced. Arguments with my sister, cats that died, friends who lied, boys that didn't like me back, piano teachers that yelled, rainy picnic days, lost pocket knives. . . so many heartbreaks.  

And we were always having pizza for school lunch. That's the worst. 

There should be a disclaimer in the front of each volume--I only wrote here when I was really sad. When I was happy--I was just happy. 

Fast forward and on the staircase bookshelf there is a printed soft cover book of my sister's and my journal entries from the Caring Bridge site while my dad was dying. Pop that one open when you want a lift.  

I write to process. Readers of this blog might come to the conclusion that I am only a stressed out winter hating working mom. 

I thought it might be good to actually sit down and write about a fabulous time. 

Last week was super busy--the school plant sale took 9.5 hours on Wednesday. Lorie and I were cold and sore and hungry--but it was good. The rain held off. We got $12,000 of plants unloaded and sorted and distributed--I think the school made almost $4000. And I met a couple new folks. 

I had to move seven hours of lessons from Wednesday to the rest of the week. But everyone was well prepared and the kids were respectful and cheerful. The teacher was focused so the students were focused. 

I mostly went to bed on time all week. Mostly. Mostly is good enough. 

There was mostly enough time to do all the important stuff. And do it mostly well. 

This weekend we went out to a fancy dinner as a family Friday night and my husband was my yard slave all weekend. This was my Mother's Day gift. Manual labor. We got the fountain up and running and again the rain held off. The chain saw started. Our karma was truly amazing. 

It was one of those weekends where you walk around and watch the plants grow. After so much chaos last year--between our construction and the hail and the roofing--I'm not taking one moment of beauty for granted in my garden. Hundreds of little ferns--I literally threw in the woods to save them from the bulldozer--are all popping their little fibonacci spiral fronds through the dead leaves.  

The kids sang in church and I played with the choir and subbed for the choristers. We had a donut with Maggie and then went home. A donut is good enough. . . 

Driving home, we saw that the city of Eagan spiked in two enormous evergreen trees in our park where we lost the 50 year old blue spruces in the hail storm. This almost made me cry. It costs a lot of money for those trees and they could have put two-footers in. It was like a moment of bureaucratic grace. 

The green mist coming over the hillside and the woods is seeping into my very soul.

So this one goes out to my mother and the rest of you. For all the times we only write or call or need you when times are tough--I wanted to leave some written proof--a joyful shout even--that contrary to the troves of laments--life is very good. I have a good mother. Good husband. Good kids. Good family. Good students. A good garden. 

I'm a happy mother. 

Happy Mother's Day.