Will They Bloom Again?

I climbed on the step stool in my kitchen and reached for my bud vase, a whiskey shot glass from Eau Claire, Wisconsin.  Every fourth week in April, the buds on my rose bush appear and each year my husband says the same thing as he presents me with the first rose of the season. 

“You’ll have roses by Mother’s Day!”

I carefully set the first rose in water on my kitchen island and secretly wonder if those bushes will reach their full potential after winter.

He planted the rose bushes decades ago and every spring I’m amazed how the spindly branches transition into plush red roses that drape the front deck of our home.  I’ve yet to face a Mother’s Day without their crimson beauty.

Oddly, my roses parallel my motherhood.

I often wondered the outcome of raising little girls in my younger years.  I think about the times my confidence waned, or the times I second-guessed myself and the times I thought I could have made better decisions. 

The girls blossomed into beautiful women, nonetheless.

Last weekend during a family reunion, our youngest asked her dad to take a photo of us for Mother’s Day this year.  I agreed to it as long as we posed in the rose garden!

Yeah, I love my roses this year but I really love my daughters.  

Happy Mother’s Day to all surviving women out there who raise your own children, bonus children, aunties who love, or those who spill out their love where needed.  Have a wonderful day.