Mother’s Day can be a hard day for many women, for many different reasons. It’s an awkward one for me, because I’ve been estranged from my own mother for three years now. She is an alcoholic, though that’s not why we don’t talk anymore. Three years ago, in our weekly phone chat, she tore into me for three hours while I tried to talk through what she was lobbing at me. It all boils down to the fact that she’s not happy with her own life, because she was angry at me for being happily married and about my “perfect fucking children.”

I forgave her immediately, because forgiveness means that you are free from the anger and the hatred. It’s not about the offender; it’s about you. I have reached out a few times via phone and Facebook, but she’s yet to respond. It’s okay, really. Because I’ve forgiven her and let it go, I will go weeks without even thinking about her. That may sound heartless, but it’s exactly the opposite. She made it clear that she hates me for being happy, and I made peace with the fact that she simply doesn’t love me.

Well, maybe she does love me, but her actions make no sense to me. I have three children of my own and I would do anything — ANYTHING — for them. They are beautiful and they are intelligent and they are loving and they are amazing and they are my heart. I would never (ever ever) yell hatred at them or wish them anything but good things.

My experience with my Mom has made me a better Mother, I think. I want my kids to know how much they are loved, beyond a shadow of a doubt. I tell them that I love them, multiple times a day. I hug them as much as they’ll let me. I tell them that they can do anything that they put their minds to. I schlep them to dance and to youth group and to running races. I do my best to be the best Mom that they could ever have. Not a perfect Mom, no, but the best Mom for them.

Mother’s Day for me was about me a little bit — who doesn’t like the homemade crafts? — but it was also about them. We spent the afternoon enjoying the sunshine in our backyard and then we had an enjoyable (and hilarious) dinner out. I can’t believe that I have these three beautiful beings who I get to be a Mom to.

How was your Mother’s Day? Is it a hard day for you?

I’m sitting here trying to think of what to talk about, relationship-wise. My kids all swarmed me for a snack and a light bulb went off. I told them that I’d like them to answer the question “What does it mean to be married?”

My ten-year-old son replied, “Well, I can’t answer that. I’m not married.”

I clarified that I wanted to know what they thought being married meant, based on what they see between their Dad and I.

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When my husband and I got married, we had no pets. Well, I’d had a cat but finding an apartment in the area we wanted to live was impossible if you owned a cat. I adopted her out to a coworker with tween girls who showered her with so much love and affection.

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My husband and I aren’t ones to cuss (much). He’s a pastor at the church we attend and there isn’t a lot of cussing that happens in our circle of friends. There is the occasional stubbed toe, etc. that can see me muttering something blue, but I (usually) keep it under control if the kids are around.

Classic curse words aside, there are a number of words that are off limits in our house for both my husband and I, as well as our kids.

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My husband is headed out of town for a three-day conference with some coworkers soon, and the lovely folks who I work for here at Work It! Mom are sending my to the Mom 2.0 summit in May. I’m also hoping to make my way to BlogHer 2013 in Chicago this summer to connect with more fellow bloggers and finally meet the Work It! Mom team that I email and talk with on a regular basis.

When my husband goes out of town, I manage it all and when people ask me how I’m doing they seem to assume that I do the bulk of child-rearing and housekeeping around here (I don’t), so it’s probably not much different aside from nobody to hang out with when the kids are in bed.

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There are a number of things that are supposed to be the way to make your wife swoon. Flowers, chocolates, cleaning the house, cooking dinner (or taking her out for dinner), writing her notes, telling her nice things, and many others. Those are all fine and good, and they all make me feel loved (especially the nice words), but the one thing that is bound to make most women swoon is this:

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I watched ‘What To Expect When You’re Expecting’ with a few girlfriends this weekend and it dredged up some emotions that are eleven years old, but are still as fresh as if they occurred yesterday.

Once upon a time, my husband and I decided that it was time to try to get pregnant and start building our family. We did the deed (multiple times), we (I) became pregnant, and at about the five-week mark, I was hit with the physical symptoms of pregnancy. I was exhausted, my regular diet of chicken and salad became replaced with ALL OF THE CARBS, and I laughed/cried at ridiculous things.

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Let’s say that you are a working Mom (in addition to the work that goes into simply being a Mom). Let’s say that your husband is a working Dad (in addition to the work that goes into simply being a Dad). You also are in charge of things like groceries and cooking, he’s also in charge of things like keeping the garden growing and the fixing the oven/washer/dishwasher when they break.

(I do not envy him. When electronics break, I get disproportionately ANGRY.)

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It’s summer vacation, as we all know, and I know that in many parts of the country, kids go back to school in early to mid August. Our school district is different - kids go to school until the end of June and return after the September long weekend. This means that my kids still have five weeks of summer break, and it might just kill my husband and I.

We love our kids. Heck we like our kids. We love to hang out in our yard, go to the beach, watch SYTYCD, go for bike rides, etc. I have always wanted to be a Mom, and my kids are so funny and quirky that they are fun to be around. We enjoy each other.

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I have eight siblings. Yes, eight. My Dad has been married a few times and there are three “sets” of us. Three from the first marriage, two from his second marriage (I’m the oldest in that set), and four from the third set. I moved in with my Dad and step-mom (I call her Mom) when I was thirteen and was a bit of a “second Mom” to my younger siblings. It’s been great to redefine our relationship as adults, but being there as they were growing up was something that made me want to have four kids of my own.

My husband comes from a family where there were three kids. Him, and a younger sister and younger brother. They got (and get) along great and yet when we first started talking about children, he said that he only wanted two. I wanted four. We decided to aim for two and then go from there.

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