Perfectly Imperfect - Mother's Day 2025

This year has brought on challenges I never imagined facing as a mother — guiding my kids through the uncertainty of being displaced from our home for nearly five months now. When it first happened, I never expected we’d be away this long. We’re safe, and we have what we need, but I often think about that morning — how we left for school and work like any other day… and never returned.

There was no time to say goodbye to our space, no chance to gather the comforts that made it ours. Just like that, our routines, our memories, our normal — all paused. As a mom, it’s been heartbreaking to watch my kids process the loss of their familiar, to see them be brave when things feel uncertain. And yet, through it all, we’ve leaned on each other. We’ve found small ways to anchor ourselves, to create a sense of home wherever we are.

Mother’s Day felt different this year. Even though we kept our little tradition of breakfast in bed, it wasn’t quite the same not being home. That morning, I saw memories from past Mother’s Days — our annual breakfast in bed photo, the kids playing in our room — and it tugged at my heart. Those memories felt so close, yet suddenly far away.

Of course, my Jemma noticed too — she told me before bed that night that she didn’t like that I didn’t have my usual breakfast tray. Her little heart is so big and thoughtful, and she tried her hardest to make it special — and she made it more special than I ever imagined. She cut out paper hearts, colored them all, and covered the bed with love. She made a picture for me and even wrote and sang an original song just for me — a moment I know I’ll never forget, with tears streaming down my face.

Joe Joe very sweetly guided me with my eyes closed over to the bathroom because I wasn’t allowed to peek until breakfast was ready. Jemma didn’t want me to see her heart decorations until it was time.

Later that day, we took our scooters and rode along the river path in our town — a place we’ve never explored, despite having lived here our whole lives. The kids laughed and raced ahead. It felt like a new kind of memory in a season where so much has been uncertain.

We ended the day with my one yearly request: a photo together. It never quite turns out the way I imagine — we got outside late, the light was already fading, and Joe Joe had just jumped out of the shower — but I’m so glad we took them. I’ll treasure those photos forever. Perfectly imperfect, just like this season we’re living through.