I knew, intellectually, that being a mother was a lot of work. But I had no idea how emotionally difficult a newborn could be. I felt like I had to have every priority and desire wrested and wrenched from me. (And, frankly, sometimes it does still feel that way.)

I was understimulated and overwhelmed, always tired, and never able to get the real rest that I needed.

And now? I have two other kids in addition to my baby. I almost feel as though I’ve been through the wringer and come out the other side—because, I finally realize, I do enjoy being a mother.

For the last five years, whenever a mother concludes the usual list of complaints with “but it’s worth it,” I mentally raised an eyebrow. And yeah, I still do that most of the time. There are still times—lots of them—where I am completely fed up and ready to quit. But slowly I’m finding myself remembering more of those moments where I do feel it’s worth it.

When Hayden was born, just being a mother was so hard for me, I wasn’t sure I could have another (and the epidural complications didn’t help). After Rebecca’s birth, I thought I could have another in due time. But before that “due time” was up, I had Rachel—and with her, every little moment I think, “This can’t be the last time I have a baby to snuggle or see these milestones or love a child of my own.”

A lot of the bitterness of the experience of becoming a mother has faded, and looking back, I know how easy I had it. I realized at the time that Hayden wasn’t a very difficult baby, and my struggles were mostly my own, and of course, I did love him very much. On the other hand, Rachel was my most difficult baby early on (she’s a perfectly happy child now)—and maybe that’s why I appreciate this phase more now.

Maybe it’s just that the older your kids get, the more you appreciate the little moments—and the moments they’re little. Almost every day, one of the kids does something remarkable, adorable, amazing, intelligent and/or kind. The milestones come faster and faster—and then I carry Rachel to her room for a nap, and I’m alternately amazed at how huge she’s getting and how tiny she still is.

I don’t know if I’ve done the feeling justice, but I feel like I appreciate and enjoy being a mother more now than I ever have. So this Valentine’s Day, I’m celebrating a mother’s love by loving motherhood.

How would you write a tribute to mother’s love for Valentine’s Day?

Mona Kashani Heern was born in Iran. After the 1979 revolution, she and her sister were expelled from school because of their Bahá’í beliefs. Their father was later jailed for the same reason. After months of waiting in the snow for hours to spend ten minutes with him once a month, they found out he’d been executed. Eventually, her mother smuggled their family into Pakistan, where they lived in jail until they gained refugee status. They later emigrated to Germany, where Mona and her sister had to learn German, English and French in order to graduate high school. Finally, they moved to the US.

Despite the persecution and hardship she’d endured, a prevailing theme in Mrs. Heern’s acceptance speech was the love and kindness that she’d experienced even in the worst, most oppressive circumstances. As a junior high English teacher, she has a passion for sharing her story with her students so that we Americans understand the privileges of freedom that we enjoy (and take for granted).

Sgt. Merlin German, another recipient, served our country in Iraq, participating in over 150 successful missions. When an IED exploded and knocked him from his Humvee turret, he was burned over 97% of his body and given no chance of survival. He defied doctors and not only survived, but relearned to breathe on his own, talk and even walk.

Concerned about burn victims who couldn’t afford the costly treatments, Sgt. German started Merlin’s Miracles. The foundation has helped thousands of burn victims pay for surgeries, compression garments and hospital stays. During a routine surgery last spring, Sgt. German passed away. His legacy lives on through the hundreds of doctors and patients he personally touched and his charitable foundation.

President Boyd K. Packer was the final honoree. He longed to become a pilot like his older brother. He promised God that he would devote his life to His service if he could live that dream. President Packer spent forty months in the Air Force during World War II.

Less than two decades after the end of the war, the Lord called President Packer’s promise due. Packer was called to be an assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, then to a member of the Quorum. Since then, he has devoted nearly forty years of his life in the full-time employment as an Apostle in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His ministry has included service all over the world. He is now the President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, the second most senior apostle.

The first award recipient, Neil Holbrook, was one of the original eight Navy “Frogmen,” the predecessor of the SEALs. In his acceptance speech, he told of a friend who was standing next to him on deck when his friend was shot. They both fell to the deck and his friend struggled to say something, but died before he could speak. Holbrook has spent six decades wondering what his friend would have said.

I’m passing the torch to the future generations. Please take care of that Constitution that I can’t enjoy. … I don’t have the liberty to go home.

When we thanked him for his service afterward, Mr. Holbrook said he would do it again tomorrow for people like us.

To honor the sacrifice of so many people this independence day, we have to remember what they were fighting for. We have to remember that the freedoms we enjoy in this country are privileges that not everyone has. We cannot forget those founding freedoms, and sometimes we have to fight with words or with weapons to keep them, at home and abroad.

Please remember this today as you celebrate Independence Day—and tomorrow, and afterward.

Newspaper coverage of the award ceremony with brief bios

Photo by Benjamin Earwicker

“I hate you.”

“Mommy . . .”

“. . .”

“That’s silly.”

“That’s better!”

(And before you ask, I’m 26. I don’t mind saying, but asking is just soooo tacky, don’t you think?)

Hayden and his gift from Santa: a bike!

Baby’s first Christmas (with Aunt Jess):

Hayden the reindeer:

These are from our ward Christmas party:

Hayden saw that Santa was giving other children small bags of candy. So while we were in line, I asked Hayden what he was going to ask Santa for and he wisely chose “Nanee!”

Rebecca wasn’t too impressed with Santa.

But she’s Santa Baby!

But this week, I discovered the best neighbor gifts ever. I was all set to host my book club Thursday night—I’d read the book, cleaned the house, picked up refreshments (again, not spending the day mixing and baking), made cocoa (one homemade thing, plus milk was $1.85/gal!), warmed those not-even-semi-homemade cookies in the oven, set out the Little Debbies, fed the baby—and then we waited.

No one was early.

No one was right on time.

No one was five minutes late.

No one was ten minutes late.

No one was twenty minutes late.

At that point, we decided no one was coming—and we had more than a gallon of hot cocoa on the stove. And we had nothing to store it in, thanks to Ryan’s slightly overzealous cleaning, taking out the empty milk jug.

So we bundled up the kids, grabbed a tray of cookies and the pot of cocoa and headed to visit our neighbors. (This never happens in the winter, okay? It’s cold out there!) We spent a delightful couple of hours visiting with them, their older daughters taking turns holding a very placid Rebecca and their sons and youngest daughter playing with Hayden—and I even got to discuss the book club book!

We told them that would “count” for our neighbor gift and a better way of expressing how much we really enjoy having them as neighbors I can’t imagine. Thanks for having us, especially on such short notice!

We never had money to spend on each other, but we had caught early in our lives a sort of contusion [the story says contagion, but I think this misreading is where we got off track] from our mother. She loved to give, and her anticipation of the joy that a just-right gift would bring to someone infected the whole household. We were swept up in breathless waiting to see how others would like what we had to give.

Secrecy ruled—open, exaggerated secrecy, as we made and hid our gifts. The only one whose hiding places we discovered [sic] was my grandmother’s. Her gifts seemed to appear by magic on Christmas morning and were always more expensive than they should have been. She was a drug dealer. She had a plot of fifty marijuana plants out back—

[Ryan had to stop for several minutes while I sputtered, choked and, yes, cried with laughter. We then discussed whether or not those were the real printed words.]

That Christmas I was glowing because Mother had been so happy with the parchment lampshade I’d made in the fourth grade. Father had raved over the clay jewelry case I had molded and baked for him. (“Baked?” Grandma said.) Gill and Emma Lou had been pleased with the figures I’d whittled out of clothespins [Mother less so, I'm sure], and Homer had like the scout pin I’d bargained for with my flint. Then Grandma started to pass out her presents.

Mine was heavy and square. It’s a brick of cocaine!

“You’ll have to cut and deal it yourself, dear. I’m getting too old for that kind of thing.”

I’d been in the hospital with an overdose that year and then on crutches after one of Grandma’s rivals broke my leg with a baseball bat. And I’d wondered how it would be to have an erector set to build with. Grandma had a knack at reading boys’ minds and I was sure that’s what it was. But it wasn’t. It was a pair of boots, brown tangy-smelling leather boots. I turned them upside down and out tumbled—

[The End]