It Pays for All

Do all mothers with small children brace themselves just slightly on their birthdays? I'm not talking about the panic that comes in response to aging. It's the deep breath that anticipates all the . . . glitter. And glue. And popsicle sticks. And tissue paper. And beads. And pom-poms. All. Over. The. Floor. These things that, when wadded together into a marvelous work of art, become mama's birthday present. Because mama's babies really, really wanna give.

There's a whirlwind of activity on mama's birthday: The warning shouts if mama's footsteps happen to approach, "Don't look!!!!" The slamming of doors. "She's coming!!!!" The sound of tape being pulled (liberally) from its dispenser. The rustle of paper, the scratching of pencils, the innocent smiles and the twinkling eyes.

And then the giving. Mama opens her treasures. Suddenly, the mess doesn't matter one bit. She beholds the eyes, peers into the hearts, and sees nothing but love. The glue might have some drying to do, and the glitter might stick stubbornly to mama's face. (You know what I'm talking about. Glitter just doesn't respond to a gentle whisk.) But that's okay. Because, as L.M. Montgomery once wrote,

I am indeed a most happy and thankful woman. Motherhood is heaven. It pays for all.


"DEAR MOM I LOVE YOU YOU'LL BE MY BEST MOM EVER LOVE AVERY"

It doesn't get any better than that.