What I would and wouldn’t be able to do.

What not to expect.

I wouldn’t dress myself this morning.

I wouldn’t help my kids get ready for a day of school.

I wouldn’t be making plans for the 10yo’s birthday sleepover.

I wouldn’t be planning an event for hundreds of people by phone and internet.

I wouldn’t be organizing a non-conference for the first time.

I wouldn’t be writing these words you’re reading right now.

I want to scream sometimes. My frustration. Irritation. Anger.

Then it’s gone.

Left behind is this understanding that I am blessed beyond comprehension.

Whether it is a doctor with a hopeless diagnosis. A family member with discouraging words. Someone who dares laugh at your dream. Your own internal voice that scoffs at your abilities.

They’re complete farkwits at being able to contain the depths of your possibility.

They’re wrong.

Here’s what you can do, you say:

I was a beaming 23 when I brought home my first baby.

A little older when my first daughter took her wobbly steps.

I felt ancient at my youngest’s cancer bedside.

Next year I am the mom of a high schooler, a middle schooler and one in elementary school.

They astound me with their ability to accept change.

They amaze me each day with the laughter they produce.

The best of me. The best of him. Three extraordinary people.

I had a hand in creating. I’m constantly molding. I see dreams of impossible beauty in their eyes.

A day long ago I wished to never have children.

Every day is the mother’s gift of a wish unfulfilled.

I’ve been a mother for 14 years.

I’ve known mothers who fought a daily battle with emotional, mental or physical disease in their own bodies.

I’ve knows mothers who would have gladly fought those battles for their child if they could.

I’ve known single mothers who have struggled to make gaping ends meet.

I’ve known a surrogate mother who gave a woman, unable to carry her child, the opportunity to hold her baby in her arms.

I’ve known mothers that walked out of hospitals without their babies, while another woman’s status changed just by walking in.

When Cozi challenged me to to “Make Another Mother’s Day“, I thought to myself “For real? How do I pick one?”

I mean, how would I decide one’s need for a little gift is greater than someone else’s?

Since I’m wise like a mofo (that’s the clinical term), I decided to donate the amount Cozi offered to pay me to write this post to another charity called Kiva.

Kiva is a non-profit organization fueled by a mission in which they seek to end poverty by lending.  “Kiva lets individuals lend as little as $25 to help create opportunity around the world.”  Funds are lent in order to meet various needs of borrowers including clothing, transportation, agriculture and housing.

The money can be repaid and then lent to another in need. It creates a sense of accomplishment. Of pride.

This is all I can think to do.

So in honor of all the mothers I have known, respected and loved I wish you a Happy Mother’s Day.

Disclaimer:

This post was sponsored by Cozi, but all opinions and decisions are mine.

Normal people, those unhindered by handicaps, have the luxury of furious departures.

Something the wheelchair, and the limitations that go with it, have forced upon us is greater compromise.

The reasons that we can no longer be a couple are still there, but they are ours and they are private.

No matter the reasons or arguments or unfathomable emotions we share a bond stronger than any judge or preacher could try to make.

The three lives that we brought into the world together will forever tie us.

For them we can be better people.

For them we can make the hard choices.

For them we can stop focusing on US and direct our energy where it should be, concentrated on making sure THEY have the best life possible.

We’ve done sickness and health. We’ve done richer and poorer.

I’ll let you know if this is better or worse.