What’s not to love about Mother’s Day? I enjoy the holiday each year. Of course, there’s nothing original to our celebration. We do what millions of other American’s do on this honorary day – we go out to a restaurant.

But not just any old restaurant. We go across the street. It’s a special day for another reason. Higgins Beach Inn is opening up for the season, and we like to be the first ones through the door. It’s become a tradition. For me, it’s a time of seasonal transition and looking back on those years, the family chapters are clearly marked.

As I sit with the luxury of a bottomless cup of coffee and a bountiful buffet, I examine my role as mother. I’m often hard on myself as I ponder my worthiness of this day of honor. But then I stop and tell myself not to get too sentimental. The kids are happy with the novelty of a breakfast buffet of endless offerings in a nice restaurant, and for that reason alone, they like Mother’s Day too.

I note how delighted I am that my kids have advanced beyond the stage of bibs, high chairs, diaper bags and sippy cups. Somehow, it seems that it was only yesterday that my hair sported sticky maple syrup, and my nicely pressed shirt had made it as far as the car ride to the restaurant.

Each Mother’s Day, I reminisce of my very first day on the mothering job. It was frightening, and it wasn’t the infant stage that scared me. I had gotten way ahead of myself! As I held my new baby boy in my arms, I fast-forwarded to the teenage years and was trembling. It was then that I realized my whole life had changed. There was no turning back on this huge responsibility. What had I gotten myself into? What did the future hold for him?

The fast-forwarded years arrived. My oldest has his driver’s license, and I’ve got a head of gray hair, nicely covered up with those youthful blond highlights. I wonder how I would have fared that day I held my first born in the hospital had I known that two more boys were in the family plan. I probably would have died!

Pregnant with a second and third child, each time I wondered what the family dynamic would be: Baseball and ballet slippers, Barbie mobiles, motorcycles? I soon realized that the plan was not of my making and I would graciously accept what was given to me. When my third son arrived, I recall a friend singing the tune of the popular sitcom, “My Three Sons.” I promptly told her to stop – the mother in that show was dead!

One thing I do know is that being a mother is a messy job. And over the years, I’ve learned to take it as it comes. Messy is good. It keeps life interesting. Last week, my youngest told me he needed a picture of when he was a baby. I knew just the picture, the one where I caught him washing my clothes in the toilet.

Another picture in the album put things in perspective. Sept. 11th, 2001, I had just taken a picture of the kitchen wall that had become the magic marker drawing board. I had called my husband to tell him that I knew for sure what I would be doing that day, painting the kitchen wall. It was shortly before 9 a.m., and he told me I was wrong. “Turn on the TV.” Whoever would have thought? Somehow the drawing on the kitchen wall became insignificant. I washed it off as best I could, and years later the kitchen got painted.

My youngest rides home from school with me each day. As I wait in the school yard for the bell to ring, he makes his way to me. Greeting me with a hug, we walk to the car with our arms around each other. I know that these days are numbered. Last week on the ride home, the deep thinker that he is, inquired about my future. Did it look bright? I assured him that the future is always unknown, but I hoped all of my kids would be happy in the future, perhaps have families, and have fulfilling jobs.

And so I asked him, “What do you see in your future?” He replied: “I want to marry a beautiful woman.” And what about your job, I inquired. “I’ll have to learn to run really fast.” “Why?” I asked. “I want to work in a zoo” he said.

I chuckled. He’s not too far off from the way my mothering role feels these days. I don’t work in a zoo, I live in one. Soaking up life in bite-size pieces has become more my motto these days. Creating tradition that marks the celebration of special holidays makes a memorable impression. A bountiful buffet helps, too. Relax and take it as it comes. Happy Mother’s Day.