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Every day is Mother's Day

I was a professional photographer before I became a mommy. Perhaps that’s why memories of my kids click to mind in still-frames.

Click! My oldest son, Blake, 6, reads a Dr. Seuss classic to his two wide-eyed brothers.

Click! My middle son, Vance, 4, gently places a ladybug on his 3-inch toy skateboard and gives it a ride down the driveway.

Click! My youngest son, Kaden, 2, leaps from the edge of a swimming pool, splashing victoriously into my arms.

I find that it’s the little moments that stick in my mind. Dimpled toddler buns jiggling down the hallway, squeaky clean from bath time. Boys pounding on their daddy for an impromptu wresting match any time he dares get near the floor. Feeling pride when a stranger remarks, “What a polite boy” after a tiny tot says, unprompted, “Thank you” for a balloon.

Being a parent, nobody explains to you how wide your heart can stretch. No one warns you how deeply you’ll ache for their safety, how brazenly you’ll pray for their success. Nobody prepares you for the joy you feel when your child memorizes a song all the way through, hits his first T-ball homer or helps his little brother tie his shoe. No one prepares you for feeling so purely loved.

Every day, I intentionally click mental pictures of my sons to cherish in my mind’s scrapbook. In my world, every day is Mother’s Day, a celebration requiring no film to develop into everlasting memories.

Click! A tear rolls down my cheek as my son, snuggled in a bear hug, whispers to me that he thinks I’m pretty, and he’s so glad that I’m his mom.

Terri Latta, a 1982 Federal Way High School graduate, lives in Auburn with her husband and three children.

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