Happy Mother's Day to Me

It's Mother's Day, after church, in the kitchen, and I'm making lunch.

My 15 year old son emerges from the basement after playing a round of Fortnight with his buddies. He looks at me across the kitchen and smiles. He walks towards me, bends low and puts his long arms around me, embracing me in a long bear hug.

Knowing that he has not yet wished me "Happy Mother's Day", that I had to pull him out of bed this morning and that he was the reason we were late for church (again!), I think, "This is it!"; he has just clued in that it is Mother's Day and he is going to love on me for being his Mom! His embrace lasts long enough that I get lost in an ocean of thoughts...

...remembering so desperately thinking he was a girl before he was born (to the point that I too emphatically yelled, "What??" when the doctor told me he was a boy...true story), to being so thankful for the man he is becoming,...

...remembering holding him tightly as a baby in my arms to feeling how tightly he is holding me now in his,

...seeing the similarities flash too quickly through my mind of the baby he was to the boy he is and the man he is becoming - in his features, in his mannerisms, in his laughter, and in his passion.

And just as tears begin to prick the sides of my closed eyelids, and my heart is feeling full, as I soak in this growing boy with all I have, he breathes in deeply, lets out a breath of relaxation and contentment, and his stature falls deeper and harder and heavier onto mine, and he says to me...

"What's for lunch?"

I sigh, pull back, look him straight in the face. I search his eyes to find out what he is thinking, for a clue of something...anything...and I see nothing but pure 15 year old boy trust and love and freedom.

"Grilled cheese. Would you like me to make you a grilled cheese for lunch?"

"Sure, Mom, if that fits the ticket."

It sure does, my boy. It sure does.

And I silently wish myself a Happy Mother's Day because I am truly happy to be a mother, on this day and all the others.