I’m still recouping from a very fun, yet very tiring, camping trip with nine children. I’m super thankful for my co-leader, who is amazing beyond words, and who made this weekend camping trip possible.

Thirty is not old at all, and yet I felt like I was thirty going on sixty. My knee was killing me the whole weekend, I was huffing and puffing while on our hike, and my foot was less than stellar… the whole trip. Really? I suppose someone can just make me a senior discount card. I totally fit the description. How does one fall so badly out of shape in two months of being slightly active is beyond me, but consider me forewarned. I don’t think I want to step one foot into 40 without a good exercise plan in mind, and dully executed.

So, needless to say my Mother’s Day was spent mainly recovering from the weekend. Before we left BLORA I took the kids to water slides for one last hooray, but honestly, I was too sleepy and tired to drive back the measly twenty minutes it would have taken me to get home. True story.

So we came home and after convincing myself that cooking lunch and cleaning up was going to tire me more than getting back in the car and driving somewhere, we went out to lunch. Little B did offer to make us all lunch, but the thought of cleaning up after him scared me just a little bit.

After we came home and I vegged for a bit Little Brooks and I worked on a bird feeder I had bought him a few weeks ago. It’s one of those build and then paint kits. Knowing I’d be spending Mother’s Day solo with my boy I knew I had to have some kind of plan in mind. Brooksy made me a bird feeder a few years ago but the paint faded and then I got a bit sad about the whole thing. This time around I’m going to look into whether or not I can coat it with something so that it’ll last longer.

My favorite part of my day was reading to the kiddos, Brooks nestled in my lap at the end as we both got drowsy.

I remember clearly how awed I felt my first Mother’s Day. I was blown away by this overwhelming sense of gratitude: gratitude that God would have entrusted this little life into my hands, that Brooks was in my life, and that I was his Momma. I was so overwhelmed I cried big, ol tears, I was so choked up with emotion. Call me sappy, I actually think I fit that term. But honestly, that same emotion still holds true today. Not one day goes by that I don’t hug and kiss That Child and count myself truly blessed. Not a single day that I don’t marvel at his smile or wit, the things that come out of that mouth, or the way his zeal for life spreads to those around him.

I can’t imagine being anything but a Mom to That Boy. It defines me in so many ways, guides my day to day, the things I do and say…

Maybe Mother’s Day makes me so weepy, too, because it’s so close to The Boy’s birthday. Birthday’s are big deals around here. I love them so much and it’s such a great opportunity to reflect on that special person, and the wonderful ways they color your life.

I always get a little sad around B’s birthday because, well, he’s getting so big. Time is a fickle thing. When you really have a mind to keep track of the thing, it slowly passes by, with no care to whether or not there’s a difference to you, and yet when the opposite holds true, it slips easily through your hands and you wonder where it went.

Every year when B’s birthday rolls around I sit down and pen him a letter. I’ve done so every year of his life. When he’s older and grown and out of my home I intend on handing them to him. I’m not sure if he’ll enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them, but if I know My Boy, he’ll love them. He loves stories. If you tell him stories he’ll get this gleam in his eye and settle down, really get comfortable, and ask you for more, even if it’s just to ask you to please retell that story just one more time.

In those letters I share the past year with him, big events, his likes and dislikes, the names of his friends, activities he was involved with, those types of things. And then I share advice with him, tell him how proud I am of him, the traits I see in him that make him uniquely Brooks. I retell stories, funny things he’s said or done, it’s truly a verbal time capsule. I think every single letter has tear stains on them. Yup, I’m completely sappy.

So between Mother’s Day and that child’s birthday it’s going to be a fun week, after I recover some energy of course. I’d have it no other way.

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