Elizabeth Gunter ART

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers, grandmothers, stepmothers, chosen mothers, and women who have spent their lives loving, protecting, sacrificing, worrying, nurturing, guiding, and somehow still holding everything together even when nobody notices.

Mother’s Day actually has roots in mothers advocating for peace, care, and the protection of children and families before it eventually became the national holiday we know today. Somewhere along the way, it became more about flowers, brunch reservations, and greeting cards, but at its core, it’s really about gratitude.

Because mothers rarely get enough credit for everything they carry. The emotional labor. The invisible work. The sleepless nights. The worrying that never really ends, even when their children are grown. There’s no clock-out time for being a mom.

My own mother passed away on September 8, a date that coincidentally is also recognized in parts of Cuba in honor of Mary Magdalene, a woman remembered for her devotion, strength, and unwavering love. Since losing my mom, I’ve realized how many ordinary moments were actually sacred all along. The phone calls. The advice. The meals. The way they ask if you got home safe. The little things quietly become the biggest things once they’re gone.

And I also know Mother’s Day can be complicated. Some people are grieving their mothers. Some never had the kind of mother they deserved. Some became their own source of nurturing far too early in life. Some are mothers carrying invisible heartbreak of their own.

So today, if you are lucky enough to still have your mom and have a relationship worth nurturing, call her. Sit a little longer. Listen a little deeper. Ask another question. Hug her tighter. One day you may wish you had one more conversation.

And for those carrying grief, distance, or complicated emotions today, I see you too.

Happy Mother’s Day.

It’s been one of those weeks with little room to pause — but the moment I sit down, this little one curls up beside me. Taking a minute to decompress and make space for some much-needed painting this weekend.

Today I had the joy of participating in Career Day at my kids’ school. By the time the day rolled around, they’d totally forgotten I was coming — which made their surprise even better. Seeing their faces light up, along with all those curious kids who dream of being artists, completely overflowed my cup.

As a Gen X mom raising Alpha kids, I’m reminded how important it is to cultivate appreciation for art — not just the making of it, but the slowing down, the observing, the noticing. In a world that moves fast, art teaches us to pause, to feel, and to see.

Before I ever called myself an artist, I was a kid with scissors, scraps, and a wild imagination. This little figure—made from yarn, paper, and bits from my mother’s sewing room—was one of my first creations, and a portrait of my mom. I remember getting myself in trouble more than once for cutting into the ‘wrong’ fabric (even my bedsheets) in search of the perfect material. The impulse was the same then as it is now: searching for the right texture, the right pattern, the right feeling.