Even with all of its messiness, I love my imperfect family. I accept all of its arguing, complaining and fart jokes. All of its sick days, inconveniences and sometimes impossibly slow pace (which is particularly painful, though predictable, when we’re running late in the morning).
Each member of my family has a place: My dependable and funny husband. My inventing, building and occasionally scheming son. My curious and kind daughter. And me: a mostly loving, mostly patient, sometimes distracted, frustrated or tired mom. The four of us are in this together, and I wouldn’t trade a moment of it all.
Except maybe I’d trade one day of the usual struggles for my fantasy of Mother’s Day. Is that really too much to ask?
OK then. I’ll take a homemade card, a macaroni necklace and breakfast at IHOP. Those can be great, too.