Holding gratitude and grief at the same time.

Mother’s Day used to feel a certain way for me.

It used to be simpler—flowers, handmade cards, little breakfast moments, preschool crafts with tiny handprints, and the kind of chaos that felt exhausting in the moment but so sweet looking back.

I didn’t realize then how quickly that version of time moves on.

Now it feels different.

Not less meaningful. Not less beautiful.
Just… layered.

And this year, it’s hitting me harder than I expected.

Memories of Mother’s Days at preschool keep popping into my head and my facebook memories—those little handmade cards, paint-stained handprints, the excitement in their faces bringing something home just for me. I look at those now and I can feel how fast it went.

Time flew by, and I don’t even think I realized it was happening.

With every passing year, they didn’t just get older—they became different versions of themselves. And I love every version. Every stage. Every shift.

But gosh… what I wouldn’t do to go back for just a few more moments.

To soak in those earlier versions a little more intentionally. To be more present. More aware. To really understand, in real time, that these moments were already becoming memories faster than I could blink.

My kids are turning 16 and 10 now, and that hits me in a way I never could have imagined.

I love watching them grow. I love seeing who they are becoming. I’m proud of them in ways I can’t even fully put into words.

But wow… has this gone fast.

And I just want them to know—I hope they know—that being their mom is the best thing I’ve ever done.

We’ve been through it. Really through it the last few years. The good, the hard, the in-between, the seasons that tested us and the ones that healed us. And somehow, we’re still us and stronger than ever, just different versions of us. But we have grown together, survived and celebrated together.

I am so thankful they are mine. They amaze me everyday with their kindness, resilience, strength, optimism and never ending support and love.

They are who I am… to a fault.

And maybe that’s part of what makes this stage so emotional.

Because the older they get, the more I realize I’m not entirely sure who I am outside of this role I’ve lived in so deeply for so long. I’ve been the class mom, the dance mom, the soccer mom, the lunch packer, the craft helper, the song singer, the book reader. Fully in it. Every day. Every season.

And now I’m starting to shift into something different. We are shifting into something different. No more mothers day lunches at school, no more class mom, they are beginning to pack their own lunches and not begging me to chaperone every field trip, not asking for one more book and most nights not asking for a book at all. It is a shift I did not see coming so fast.

Trying to figure out who I am when they don’t need me in the same ways anymore.

It’s beautiful. It’s proud. It’s emotional. It’s confusing all at once.

And I think that’s where Mother’s Day lives for me now.

Not just in celebration… but in reflection.

In gratitude for what is still here.
And grief for what has already gone.

Holding both at the same time.

Because I don’t think motherhood was ever meant to be just one feeling.

It’s everything.

This Mother’s Day, I’m not trying to make it perfect or polished or waiting for homemade cards.

I’m just holding it all and soaking it all in.

The gratitude.
The grief.
The pride.
The love that sits underneath every single part of it.

And letting that be enough. And also over here hoping time slows down just a bit.

Anyone else feeling this way? Or is it just me?