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I’m still finding chocolate fingerprints around the house. My three lovelies (what I affectionately call my kids on the best of days) came into my room—not too early—on Mother’s Day morning with this for breakfast: a grapefruit, warm water with honey and lemon, and strawberries with chocolate ganache. We added the bananas later when the strawberries started to run out. How’s that for kids that know their mommy? They’ve learned that my favorite breakfasts are ones that are less like breakfast and more like dessert.

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I was then flooded with a series of drawings, pop-up cards, and poems, along with these potted gerbera daisies, which were provided by my mother-in-law. I don’t like saying “ex-mother-in-law”—it sounds too harsh. For two years now, she had taken the kids for an evening, the week before Mother’s Day, to give me the night off, and lead my kids in creating some sort of extravaganza for me.

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In church, on Mother’s Day, several friends came up and put their arms around me, with concerned looks on their faces and asked, “How is your Mother’s Day?”

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“Perfect,” I replied. Because my kids are great, and because the woman who raised my children’s dad has cared enough to teach them importance of Motherhood. I am so grateful for her thoughtfulness, and her service, to teach my children something that would be difficult to teach them on my own.

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