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My daughters caught sight of me as I pulled up to the school today. My youngest, who just turned eight, excitingly waved something colorful in the air, though I couldn't quite see what it was. As I slowly came to a stop, the girls approached the van and climbed in.

Look, Mom! Happy Mother's Day! ?

Too anxious to wait until Sunday, Emma handed me what she'd been waving over her head; a little bouquet of brightly colored tissue paper flowers, sprinkled with glitter. And here's a card for you, too! ?

The front of the card was adorned with tulips in red, yellow, purple and blue marker, with a big yellow sun up in the corner and a single blue cloud. I opened it and read.

You are sweeter than enething.
You are the gratest mother ever.
Daddy loves you.
You look like a prinses and you smell like flowers.
You look pretty even with out make up.

Happy Mother's Day!
Love, Emma

All I ever really wanted was to get married and become a mother. Dreams of being a ballerina, a concert pianist, a figure skater, or an actress came and went. But because of my own angel mother, the one constant, the one hope that was always there, was to be like her. I wanted to be a ‘mommy.'

At age 12, I decided I was going to have six children. Four boys and two girls to be exact. I even named them and recorded it all in my journal. I guess it never occurred to me that my future husband might want to have a say in the matter. My first was going to be Sara Nicole, after the sister I always wanted and never had.

Sara Nicole was the name my parents had chosen several years before for their fourth and last child, if that child was going to be a girl. When Mom came home from the hospital with a Nicholas James instead, I wasn't too happy. I already had two younger brothers. A third was not in my plans. But he sure was cute, and within a few days, I'd gotten over my loss. I was bound and determined however, to have my Sara Nicole, even if I had to get her myself.

Many years later (though not by myself), I gave birth to my first child. A girl, Sara Nicole.

The rest of my 12-year-old plans for children didn't quite go the way I wrote them out in my journal. Instead of six, we only have four: Sara, James, Mary and Emma. And other than Sara's, their names don't match what I'd chosen back then, either. But everything is the way I'd hoped it would be.

Of course, we have our struggles, our difficulties, and challenges. Still, I look at these four precious blessings and I'm amazed.

Those tiny hands that once raised drool covered teethers to their lips, now do the math to figure out the circumference of a circle, write in journals, wash dishes, draw beautiful pictures, pass the Sacrament and write Mother's Day poems.

Those little lips that once babbled unintelligibly now sing the songs of Zion with the ward choir, joke with their friends, bear sweet but nervous testimony in Sacrament meeting, take turns reading during family scripture study, argue with their brother or sisters, and tell me they love me.

Those tiny little feet that tenuously took first steps, now run for miles at track meets, zip around on wheelies, jump on the trampoline, and try their best to follow in the footsteps of their Savior.

There are days when I'd do anything to hold their tiny little baby bodies in my arms again; to cuddle them to my breast and lull them to sleep with a song. I miss those days, those sweet and tender moments of holding my babies so close to my heart.

But then again, I love to see them grow!

I love the gentleman my son has become. I love to see him helping his sisters, holding the door for a lady, honoring his priesthood, crossing the finish line at a race, and hearing him tell a non-member friend about the First Vision.

I cherish watching my daughters turn into young women. I love to hear them sing, to watch them dance, to hear them give talks in Primary, to see them tending to their older, disabled sister; brushing her hair, changing her clothes, reading to her, singing to her to calm her when she's crying… learning to be mothers themselves.

One day they'll be gone, and my heart breaks at the thought.

But when I think past the selfish part of me that wants them to stay in my care forever, I can visualize them with their own children, holding their own babies in their arms. They too, will feel the wonderful and true happiness that I have been so blessed to know.

Joy upon joy, upon joy, upon joy… and my cup runneth over.

Alison Moore Smith is a 61-year-old entrepreneur who graduated from BYU in 1987. She has been (very happily) married to Samuel M. Smith for 40 years. They are parents of six incredible children and grandparents to two astounding grandsons. She is the author of The 7 Success Habits of Homeschoolers.