Last Sunday.

Any day is a good day to celebrate.

But last Sunday, as it has for the last five years, it was an especially good day to be a mama.
This past Sunday, I split my day in three ways, taking into account time with my own mom, my mother-in-law and lastly, myself.  And it was perfect.

Because on days like this Mother's day Sunday, I am humbled.

I spent my morning tightly holding on to tears of gratitude as I stared at my grandmother's grave with my mom and babies by my side.  I thanked her for all that she's left behind and all the love she continues to send from a world away.
In the same knotted-throat kind of moment, I thought of how incredibly lucky I am to have my own mother.  In all of her beautifully flawed ways, I love my mom [And that may just be the greatest understatement of them all].

The afternoon was spent at the park with my boys, all three of them. And I soaked in the vision of two baby boys and their hero, named dad.  Like most moments in my last 5 years of motherhood, I promise to never forget this: the sight of the three running, chasing, catching and hugging as if it were our last day on earth...together.

By the time dinner came around, I was surrounded by the beautiful women that are my in-laws by association but immediate family by choice.  We talked of all the greatest things that unite us, the babies that made us into these crazy, happy, proud mamas/aunts/nanas/godmothers. 

And as I layed in my bed, trying to cuddle with the little beings that started this journey of mine, I reflected on said day. And how right it felt to be me.

Which leads me to the moral of this post.  As it is more than the love that I am submerged in on Mother's Day and any other day.  It is deeper than the loss of one love and the rebirth of another.  It is more than the little moments that I promise to take with me to the other beautiful place.

It is about accepting how effin peachy life is with a little bit of notice.