The Sweetest Mother's Day Gift!

Gah, this picture makes me so mad.

Those are my husband’s hairy legs and white feet lounging poolside. We were on a big family trip to Florida for Christmas. His uncle was kind enough to crank the pool heater up to 90 degrees in honor of his Midwestern family visiting. 

Like a lot of women, I don’t relish the thought of wearing a swimsuit. It isn’t my first choice to unveil my cellulite. Especially in the company of my husband’s thin family. The voices in my head arguing between “don’t bring the suit” and “wear the damn suit” back and forth they shouted. 

The rational side of me won out. Despite my self-consciousness, I went in the pool. My son was in the pool. I love the water. I’d never been in a pool on Christmas Day before. This was something I wanted and needed to do. I was playing catch with our son, sipping a cocktail, enjoying the evening sun. It was a small victory for me. It would’ve been easy to not bring a suit to their home. It would’ve been comfortable to lounge in the sun and not bare what I’d like to hide. I didn’t let the insecurities win and we played until the sun went down and I was happy.

Then I saw this photo, my husband, who rarely posts on Facebook, posted this to his page. He added a caption about maybe we’d been doing Christmas wrong all these years. It was funny. But it bothered me. Bothered me that he didn’t capture his wife and child playing in the pool just out of view. It was Christmas after all. A Christmas unlike any other we’d celebrated. It seemed worthy of a photo. So I commented to him, “It would’ve been nice if you would’ve included your family in the picture.”

His response broke me, “I wanted to, but I figured you wouldn’t want your picture taken.”

He assumed that I would’ve gotten upset, so he didn’t take a picture. I told him I would’ve loved that picture. 

I was and still am so mad at myself. 

There are plenty of articles out there encouraging dads to take photos of moms. I agree wholeheartedly. Moms should be in pictures. That is a gift for down the road at a later time. However, how many of us have unknowingly discouraged that from happening because we are too concerned with how we will look in the picture? Worried the lighting will reveal our wrinkles. Our hair isn’t styled. The outfit is unflattering. I could go on and on.

Here’s the deal, moms—if you are loving your kids and have a smile on your face that is beauty worthy of being captured in a photo. In my case, I think it could’ve been a keeper. The evening light, the blue water, saltwater waves in my hair, two smiling faces. I wish he’d taken the photo. 

Each day of our trip I went in the hotel pool. We floated, swam, played, and laughed. Fun memories without any pictures to prove it. I blame myself for that. I’m so glad I didn’t let my insecurities rob me of the good times we had but clearly, based on my husband’s perceptions, I have some work to do. This picture reminds me to ask for the picture to be taken and perhaps more importantly, not to cringe or primp or complain when I’m not sure I do. 

From here on out I want to worry less about looking perfect and more about feeling happy. That feeling will overshadow any perceived imperfections and you will look beautiful.

You may also like:

Husband, I Love You More

To My Hard-Working Husband: I See You

To My Husband: 50 Reasons I Need You

Want more stories of love, family, and faith from the heart of every home, delivered straight to you? Sign up here! 

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

Michelle Koch

Michelle truly believes that our lives are meant to be amazing adventures and that those adventures can keep us close to home or take us around the world. She dreams of living in the country, but within close proximity to a Target. She is married to a guy she has loved for more than 25 years and doesn’t feel old enough for that to be possible. Her son has her wrapped around his dirty little fingers. Michelle writes about seeking grace, celebrating beauty, and living with gratitude at One Grateful Girl. You can connect with her on Facebook, Instagram, and Pinterest.

If You Give a Mom a Bouquet…

In: Motherhood
Woman arranging bouquet of pink flowers on table

If you give a mom a bouquet… She goes to grab a vase to put it in. As she grabs the vase, she also grabs the duster because she knows the spot for the vase is probably dusty and she has guests coming for dinner. As she begins dusting, she notices the stack of books that needs to go back on the shelf. When she gets to the shelf, she sees the bendy action figures in battle formation that need to go back in the bin. When she gets to the bin, she spots the toy food that needs to...

Keep Reading

Here In the Liminal Space of Parenting

In: Motherhood
Woman in tunnel

It’s Friday night at 8:00. The intermittent snoring of an 80-pound lap dog is the only thing slicing through the silence of my home. It feels empty, and there is a stillness in the air. I have nowhere to be; there is nobody waiting to be picked up. I’m staring at the empty takeout boxes from dinner sitting on the coffee table. There was no need to cook a big meal; it was just the two of us, my husband and me, sitting together wistfully in this liminal space of parenting. It is the quiet place between an empty nest...

Keep Reading

Mothers Are the Givers

In: Motherhood
Mom embracing young daughter

As we were decorating the tree last Christmas, my son dug to the bottom of a box and pulled out a Snoopy ornament. He set it off to the side quickly and continued his rifling. But I noticed the faint crack along the red jukebox that Snoopy stood beside. In an instant, I was standing back in the kitchen of our first home watching my son wander in to ask, in the cutest toddler voice, if he could “pwess” the button on the ornament to play the music. With gleeful excitement, he pressed too hard. The ornament slipped from his...

Keep Reading

Hyperemesis Gravidarum Means I Survived Something No One Could See

In: Motherhood
Pregnant woman lying on couch with hand on forehead

My hands were trembling as I reached for the pregnancy test developing on the bathroom counter. It had been three months since we lost our second pregnancy to miscarriage, and I was cautiously optimistic that this was our month. My heart tried to leap out of my chest when I saw the two lines. Our rainbow baby had been conceived. Let me preface the rest of this story by saying I knew my pregnancy wouldn’t be magical. My pregnancy with my son, who was 22 months old at the time, hadn’t been, and the short weeks leading up to my...

Keep Reading

I’m Learning To Feel Like I Belong In a Room Because I Want Her To Know She Always Does

In: Living, Motherhood
Little girl looking in the mirror

It took me 39 years to like myself. I mean really, honestly look in the mirror and say, “You go, girl.” I understand the concept of progress, not perfection, but the idea of always working on myself became a tiring and unrelenting objective. Here I was shrinking that waist, smoothing my skin, studying hard, working way too late, and often burning the candle at both ends to yield results that were still less than the ideal. It’s all well and good to be a doer who sets reasonable and sometimes unreasonable goals, but throughout my teens and into my early...

Keep Reading

Soon There Will Be No More Breakfasts To Make

In: Grown Children, Motherhood, Teen
Ten boy eating breakfast at kitchen counter

T-minus 44 days until a new beginning- Math has never been my strong suit or my favorite subject, but it will be about 19 years spent rising and trying to shine in our house. Nineteen years of prepping one, two, or all three of our sons to get up and ready for school. Nineteen years of making breakfast. Nineteen years of making lunches. For those of you in the thick of it right now, you know exactly what I mean. I think my husband Steve and I have it down to a science now. If we had to do it...

Keep Reading

I’m Going to Tell You the Things Your Mom Should Have Told You

In: Living, Motherhood
Mother with three grown daughters

During my oldest daughter’s freshman year of college, I started being haunted by a recurring dream of an old-fashioned suitcase—one of those hard-sided ones that’s as big as they come. In the dream, when I open the suitcase, it’s overflowing with clothing, shoes, and all kinds of stuff that belongs to me and each of my three daughters. Everything in the suitcase is all jumbled together. Nobody else in the dream is worried about sorting through everything, but I am totally stressed about it. To top it all off, I have to deal with this suitcase while preparing for a...

Keep Reading

The Half-Dressed Mom and Love in the Details

In: Motherhood
Woman sitting with coffee cup and book on bed

I am a proper mom. Not fancy, not prim—practical. I am dressed for the time of day, always. That is simply who I am. Except for this morning. This morning I was in a towel, bracing the bathroom counter, writhing in pain, and trying not to scream loud enough to disturb the neighbors. I had seen a specialist just the day before. He’d said I needed six weeks to heal before they could do further exploration. What he hadn’t said—what I hadn’t understood—was how much the healing itself would hurt. My 23-year-old daughter, Aislyn, found me like that. Panicked. Half-dressed....

Keep Reading

Mommy, Will You Play With Me?

In: Kids, Motherhood
Boy sitting in middle of toys smiling

With four kids at three different schools, our days are full. Between sports practices, music lessons, clubs, rehearsals, games, meets, and playdates, it feels like we’re constantly heading somewhere. I love that my children are involved in activities, but occasionally, it’s nice to have some downtime. When I get a text or email that a practice has been canceled, it’s usually a huge relief. Last week, after-school sports were cancelled due to heavy rain. When I picked up my youngest son from school, I told him we’d be going straight home for the rest of the afternoon. He looked surprised....

Keep Reading

Could We Take a Page from the ’80s and Stop Overparenting?

In: Kids, Motherhood

I have a confession: Yesterday I let my 11-year-old play with fire. Like literally. We live in the country, there is still wet snow on the ground, and he’s done it with his dad at least 20 times. But yesterday was the fifth consecutive day of no school, and probably the twentieth consecutive day of him asking to have a small fire without dad. Part of me did it out of laziness. Part of me did it out of selfishness. And part of me did it out of nostalgia. Here’s the thing—when I was 11, I was already babysitting (like...

Keep Reading