Saturdays Are Like That

Waking up on a Saturday morning always makes me wish my mom were near. It's spring break in our neck of the woods and everything is in full bloom. The road to our house alone is lined (in most places) with azaleas in bright pinks and pure whites and all I can think is, I wish my mom were here to see this.

The dusty, yellow pollen has finally died down thanks in part, I'm sure, to all the rain we had last week. My flower pots are overflowing with blooms and the bleeding hearts, ferns, and something-that-I-can't-remember-the-name-of are popping up around our little pond out back. I think my dad would really like all that.

If I could have one wish, at least at this moment, is that all of my family could be here at the same time. How crazy would that be? My parents could have our room, my brother and wife Katie's room, nieces and husband and baby and baby-to-be could camp out in the boys' room. Shoot, I'd even let my husband take the couch. Anything, if only they could all be here.

I promise I didn't wake up gloomy. The sunshine is streaming in through the windows, the fireplace is going just long enough to knock the chill out of the air... it is certain to be a beautiful day. I'm on my way to meet a friend for coffee and laughs and conversation, and all the kids are still happily sleeping away their Saturday morning. I just sat down and found myself missing my mom.

Saturdays are like that.

The thing is, she'll most likely be thinking the same thing.
Great minds think alike.

We'll both snap out of it, though.
Saturdays come every week.

But all those Saturdays eventually bring summer.

Can't wait to see you, Mom.
Sure do love and miss you.
Thanks for making me, well... me.