A Mother's Dreams

For every mother, there is also a child. So this Mother's Day, I want to take a moment to honor mine—because without them, I’d just be a lady who talks to herself in the car and tells the dog all her problems.

Now, I’m going to brag just a little… okay, who am I kidding? I’m going to brag a lot. It's Mother's Day, and if I can’t shamelessly gush about my kids today, when can I?

Mothers of young children spend a lot of time wondering what their kids will be like when they grow up. Will they be kind? Will they find a good partner? Will they finally remember to change the toilet paper roll without being reminded? And of course, we dream about grandbabies—those sweet little bundles who let you snuggle them and then go home with someone else when they get cranky.

We want more for our kids—more education, more opportunity, more peace, more faith, more snacks that don't come from the dollar store. We want them to be better versions of ourselves, but with fewer bad haircuts and more emotional maturity.

And I’ve been blessed beyond measure. My son married a woman I couldn’t have hand-picked better if I'd had a catalog and a magic wand. She’s a phenomenal mother to my grandchildren—patient, loving, strong, and smarter than I ever was at her age. In fact, if she keeps this up, she’ll be a better version of me when she hits my age… and I say that with all the pride of someone who can finally admit they didn't have it all figured out in their thirties. (Or forties. Or, let’s be honest, ever.)

Their family is a living, breathing version of the dreams I once whispered over a sink full of dishes or while folding an endless pile of laundry that somehow still contained only one sock from each pair.

But I’m not stopping there. My two daughters? Powerhouses. Strong women with hearts like lionesses and nerves like steel cables. They're raising their own children now, facing down life’s curveballs with courage, grace, and just the right amount of caffeine. I see pieces of myself in them, yes—but I also see what’s uniquely theirs: resilience, fierce independence, and the kind of strength that could move a mountain or at least clean a kitchen while holding a baby and answering work emails.

And let’s not forget my four stepchildren—wonderful adults who bring honor to their families and have become an unexpected gift in my life. They’ve woven themselves into my heart just as tightly as anyone born there.

I’m so proud of all of them I could practically burst at the seams—though, truth be told, some of these seams have already given up the fight. Elastic only has so much fight in it.

So here’s to raising children who become the kind of people we once dreamed about when they were small and sticky and asking why fourteen times a minute.

Here’s to the joy of seeing them raise their children—with all the love, lessons, and lunacy we passed on, mixed with their own.

And here’s to all the mothers whose greatest dream wasn’t a big house, a fancy car, or a perfect life—but simply a family that turns out alright in the end.

Because on a farm or in a family, the harvest is sweetest when it's grown with love, watered with patience, and occasionally fertilized with a little chaos.