I sip my coffee and reflect on the first few hours of this Mother’s Day — a morning already rich with chaos, comedy, and the unmistakable scent of responsibility — and I think back to how it all began.

I arose—late, gloriously late: a full 30 minutes later than normal—from my sacred Mother’s Day slumber, peeling myself from Dad’s side of the bed, because of course he had migrated into my territory like a sleepy, overgrown housecat sometime around 3 a.m.

I padded to the bathroom for the briefest of morning necessities, then drifted to my closet with the slow, ceremonial grace of a queen selecting her coronation gown. I emerged ready to face the day… only to discover that my husband had returned to bed. Again. As if Mother’s Day were his federally recognized holiday.

Clutching my mother’s gift—a Dolly Parton word search, the height of Appalachian affection—I filled out her Mother’s Day card with a tender, thoughtful sentiment. A daughter honoring her mother. A generational passing of the crown.

And then.

He materialized.
At my elbow.
Like a man summoned by the faint, mystical sound of a pen cap clicking open.

“Perfect,” he said. “I need to fill this out—can I borrow your pen?”

MY. PEN.

To fill out my Mother’s Day card.
To me.
Using my pen.
While I was writing a card to my mother.

I informed him—gently, regally, with the patience of a woman who has seen some things—that I prefer to write the calendar year at the top of my Mother’s Day cards. Because I am a woman of tradition, legacy, and documentation.

Then I glided downstairs, fixed my coffee, straightened my crown, and prepared to enjoy the day that was allegedly mine.

But then…
Jack’s words hit me.
The sacred scroll he brought home.
The one where he declared that I am kind, helpful, smart, silly…

“Kind of like Dad.”

And suddenly, clarity washed over me like the steam from my freshly poured coffee.

On this Mother’s Day, I wish for myself—and for all mothers everywhere—the strength, the serenity, the audacity…
to be “like Dad.”

To wake up whenever.
To wander back to bed without explanation.
To borrow pens without shame.
To exist in a state of unbothered, unhurried, unburdened bliss.

May we all experience, even briefly, the Dad Level of Ease™.

Happy Mother’s Day to us.
We are the backbone, the scheduler, the finder of lost shoes, the keeper of the pen.
And today?

We rise.
We caffeinate.
We reign.

P.S. I will not be running, wrestling, tackling, chasing, or participating in any sport‑adjacent activity today.
Dad may keep those sacred duties.
He may also retain full and permanent custody of all bug‑killing responsibilities.
I shall be seated.

Happy Mothers Day to all 💙