“What do you really want for Mother’s Day?”my ten-year-old daughter, Lizzy, asked as I stashed the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and scrubbed drizzles of spilled milk off the kitchen counter. I glanced up at the clock, down at my ratty pajamas, and over my shoulder at the toddler who had just waddled into the room with a saggy diaper. Church would begin in ninety minutes, and chances were strong that we’d be late. Again. My husband was already at work, and two of my kids were out in the yard getting their church clothes dirty as I chased down …
