You might not remember, but I always will.

As our kids get older, time plays funny tricks. Things that happened "just a short while ago" are entirely missing from their memories. Seth, for example, has no memory at all of ever living in Washington. We moved away when he was four, and really, it wasn't all that long ago. So this Mother's Day, to my five beautiful children, may I share some memories that you might not remember, but I always will.

Luke, you may not remember the Challenger explosion, January 26, 1986. You and I were together in a hospital room when it happened. I had crawled up into the big metal crib and under the oxygen tent in order to hold you in my arms as you struggled to breathe, your worst asthma attack yet. We sat there in that crib together as I watched the explosion happen live on TV. You may not remember, but I always will.

Shulamith, you may not remember New Year's weekend, 1988. You and I rode in an ambulance to Seattle Children's Hospital, where you would have an emergency procedure to remove a peanut from your bronchial tube. Note to self: Don't let older cousins give your toddler peanut brittle while she is jumping on the bed. It was so scary for me, but you were the brave and strong person you are today, even way back then. You thanked the nurse when she finished drawing your blood but firmly expressed your displeasure when she assumed that at age 20 months you would need a diaper: "I am not a baby. I do not wear diapers!" You may not remember, but I always will.

Isaiah, you may not remember fall of 1991, when Shulamith brought home chickenpox from kindergarten. This was before immunization was available, so most kids had to deal with the disease, but preferably when they were older than just seven  months. Luke got it too, so I had three kids with chickenpox. Luke and Shulamith lay on the couch, covered in pink Calamine lotion, and watched TV. They understood what was going on. You didn't. You looked up at me with sad, pleading eyes as if to say, "Mommy! Why can't you fix this?" And oh how I wanted to because you were so miserable. You may not remember, but I always will.

Eli, you may not remember when you and I flew to St. George to visit my friend Corrie and were in her home only five minutes before you tumbled down an entire flight of stairs onto the hard floor beneath. You were eight months old and had just barely learned to crawl; I wasn't accustomed to your sudden mobility. You cried. I cried. But in the end you weren't even hurt at all (thought I felt like the worst mother ever!). You may not remember, but I always will.

Seth, you may not remember the day you decided to walk to Haggen to get some Skittles. When you were barely four years old. I turned around, and you were gone. Vanished. Never had I felt such panic. Fear pulsed through my body as I searched for you. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the relief that flooded over me as I saw you pull into the driveway in the backseat of that police car. And though the cop was a total jerk to me, nothing mattered except that my little baby was safe. You may not remember, but I always will.

This weekend we made a few more memories. Eli was here but spent nearly all of his time slaving away at the Mac Shack. We managed to fit in breakfast together Saturday morning, and like I told him, even a tiny visit is better than none at all. I miss him. Today, Shulamith and I sneaked away after church and ate yummy Buffalo Wild Wings, just the two of us, the two mommies. It was a warm-up for our "real" Mother's Day celebration which will come sometime in the next couple of weeks and will include such things as The Melting Pot, pedicures, a movie, and massages. Uh huh, be jealous. This evening, Gerald and Amanda and I dined at Mac Grill, served by Eli, with Seth busing tables and Isaiah serving in the section right next to us.

Restaurant work isn't easy, especially on Mother's Day. All three of them worked the entire afternoon and evening with no break. They say millennials don't know how to work. I disagree. These three are some of the hardest working people I know, and I am so proud to be their mom.

My dear children, Mother's Day 2016 will soon be only a memory. And you may not remember, but I always will.