This is how it went for me a few Mother's Days ago:

What I wished I could have for Mother's Day

A tummy tuck, to get rid of my sagging, post-pregnancy belly, and that skin you have to fold up and tuck in your jeans.

A perfectly clean house, with no signs of the messes caused by those four children who make me a mother.

A new kitchen, which I couldn't afford because of the many expenses resulting from said children.

What I got for Mother's Day

Breakfast in bed, consisting of an overflowing bowl of chocolate cereal and an it's-way-too-early-for-this-but-thanks-anyway HUGE glass of Diet Coke.

A ginormous pink duct tape purse made by the kids that morning.

A wooden, bunny-shaped recipe holder made in scouts.

Pictures of each of my kids, accompanied by their thoughts about me, made at church.

Somehow, my wishes and my reality were way out of step. That year, I heard that a majority of women surveyed said they would like plastic surgery for Mother's Day. I was embarrassed that I understood. I may not have asked for it, knowing it wasn't realistic, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't have loved it. I had to take a step back and think about the math of motherhood.

Droops, softness, and trampoline skin are the tell-tale marks of motherhood. You can get them lots of different ways, including:

Bearing children.

Driving kids around to their activities rather than driving yourself to the gym.

Spending all your energy chasing kids around till you're too exhausted to chop broccoli and instead resort to a dinner of gummie worms from the car, whoppers from the diaper bag, and mac and cheese from the baby's bowl.

So, the math goes like this

Raising kids = Becoming a mother

Becoming a mother = droops, softness, trampolines, messes, less money

Droops, softness, trampolines, messes, less money = EMBARRASSMENT, DISDAIN, DISGUST, SELF-LOATHING, JUDGMENT. QUICK! HIDE ALL OF THESE MARKS OF MOTHERHOOD.

WAIT. WHAT?

The math for mothers today just plain doesn't add up. Why have the natural reminders of motherhood become unacceptable answers to the motherhood equation?

We are always striving - me included - to look like we did before we had kids. We want to look like we never bore children, or ate a leftover birthday cupcake instead of stopping for lunch. I find myself wearing my skinny jeans and putting on makeup to go volunteer at the school, lest I look more "motherly"� than the other gym-toned, expertly-coifed young mothers.

If this is true of our bodies, it's also true of our homes. We are constantly trying to clean up any evidence that our children live with us. We'd like their toys to look like a display catalog of cuteness in a color-coordinated play area. Forget that kids eschew all designated play areas and prefer to carry their toys around the house as they follow you from room to room, carefully dropping one every five feet. Heaven forbid our homes look like our kids actually act like kids in them. Sure, it's OK to have their artwork displayed on the wall in cutesy frames we made ourselves. But it's not OK to have another mother see their finger-paint-with-jam artwork on the kitchen table.

On that Mother's Day a few years ago, I found myself asking, why is it that our goal as mothers seems to be eradicating any sign that we are mothers? It shouldn't be.

When I was growing up, moms had tummies, and drooping boobs. I don't remember any of them appearing regularly at the school in yoga pants or three-inch heels. They were moms, and they looked like moms. They were soft to hug, and their smiles always made you feel welcome at a friend's house. They were beautiful. Most of all, you believed you could be like them some day.

After that enlightening Mother's Day, I resolved to stop trying to hide my motherhood. Give yourself permission to do the same: Wear your marks of motherhood with pride. Find the beauty in yourself as a soft, messy, un-showered, lumpy, droopy, and SMILING and LOVING and WELCOMING MOTHER. Be a mother, and be proud of it. Stop apologizing for your house or your clothes, even to yourself.

What are the chances your daughter can grow up to be thin, clean and perfect all the time when she's a mother? How will she feel if that's the burden of expectation she places on herself? On the other hand, what are the chances your daughter will be kind, soft, loving, and motherly? That math is much more likely to add up.

This Mother's Day, she'll be watching you. Show her an example of some motherhood math that actually equals happiness. Wear your marks of motherhood with pride, droops, sags, messes, and all. You are a mother. And mother = beauty.

The post Let’s fix the motherhood math appeared first on FamilyToday.

I'm only 2 years old, and I've already got a pretty special talent. I'm too little to understand how amazing my talent is, but I do understand that I've got a family who loves and supports me.

Why do I shoot baskets? Because it's fun, and because it makes my family smile. My older brothers and sister clap and holler for me. They set up my shots. My parents film me and cheer for me. For every shot I make, I miss a bunch. But I don't care: my family is there. I know they love me whether I make it or not.

Will I still be the amazing basketball baby when I'm 3, or 4, or 5? Will I lose my talent once I grow out of this cute little toddler body? I don't know. But I know my family will still love me. They will still cheer for me.

See that smile I'm wearing on my second birthday? It's not because I'm the Great Basketball Baby. It's because to my family, I'm just the greatest. Period.

Parents, remember to love your kids through their talents - not because of them. Nurturing talents is a wonderful way to share love with your children, but it's tricky to do it right.

Helping your children develop their talents is crucial because it shows them that what is important to them is important to you.

It shows your son you love him enough to believe he can accomplish his goals.

It shows your daughter you have taken the time to notice what is special about her - what makes her different from her siblings.

The trick is to show love to your child through his talents, not because of them

Love him by being there, whether he wins or loses.

Love her by complimenting her hard work, rather than her inborn gift.

Love him by letting him see your genuine joy in watching him progress, whether he's a star or not.

Love her by teaching her to show respect for her competition, win or lose.

Love him through the losing streaks.

Love her even when she wants to give up.

Love him by teaching his siblings to support him, rather than envy him, and by teaching him to cheer for them in return.

And love her when her star dims - when she gets passed up by the competition, and doesn't find joy in her talent anymore. Let her move on.

But never love them because of their talents. Never let them wonder whether you would love them less if they didn't make the shot.

The post Talents: Love me through them, not because of them appeared first on FamilyToday.