For as long as I can remember I have responded to certain holidays with a mix of disdain and indignation; I’m fairly certain this response began with Valentine’s Day. Perhaps my initial reaction to Valentine’s Day had as much to do with what I interpreted as a cultural sense of competition—certain girls, the pretty girls and the popular girls were pitted against the plainer girls and the outsider girls. But, as I have grown up, I still find myself taking issue with what seem to be more aptly described as arbitrary commercial or Hallmark holidays wherein we are encouraged, nay, aggressively admonished, to celebrate someone with cards, flowers, chocolates, or other gifts. I continue to buck this system each year even while succumbing to its pressures in the form of expectations of older generations in which my own mother falls.

I have long proclaimed I would rather be celebrated on any other day than the prescribed calendar day, be it Mother’s Day or Valentine’s Day. When I got married and we had children, my husband and I also aimed a certain level of snark at Father’s Day because that particular celebration day is almost always lumped in with graduations as celebrating Dad & Grads. Maybe it’s just me, but there is such an impersonal aspect to these designated celebrations of those in our lives.

Again, I would rather be celebrated, singled out, on a random day in April or September than fight crowds for a Mother’s Day brunch or receive an overpriced and run-of-the-mill bouquet of flowers. Don’t get me wrong, flowers are lovely, but when it comes to Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day, they can also seem unimaginative. 

I say all of this because as I have gotten older and as my relationship with God has grown deeper, I have come to appreciate the gift of days we receive from the Creator with each day being something not guaranteed to us and therefore something to be cherished and received with the favor with which it is given to us. In recent days and weeks, I have found myself considering my life in the measurement of days and the beauty and delight it offers me. In other words, I have come to a place in my journey where I long, even crave the sacred and extraordinary in the seemingly mundane and ordinary. For me, the pressure of celebrating things like Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day steals the spontaneity of a day’s wonder and sacredness if we let it. 

Last night, my 17 year old admitted her anxiety about today being Mother’s Day because she hadn’t done anything for me, created something or bought something. What I tried to convey to her and what I want both of my girls to know and understand is that I feel celebrated more often than they realize.

I feel celebrated as their mother when they ask if they can give me a hug.

I feel celebrated when my oldest empties the dishwasher on a random Monday morning.

I feel celebrated when my youngest shares a drawing of a recent OC (original character) she’s created.

I feel celebrated as a mama when we share an experience, a song, a spontaneous dance party, or even a protected fear.

I feel celebrated because we are connected and I am grateful for the relationship we have created and continue to nurture each and every day we are all gifted. I count myself deeply blessed and always grateful to experience each day’s journey with these two incredible young women; they are gifts I don’t necessarily deserve but am thankful to have received because it is they who make me the mama I am and am still becoming.