Mother’s Day in Lisbon – May 11
Some days stretch wide.
They open up like a long, sun-warmed path through time —
and offer more than one could ever plan or predict.
May 11th.
Mother’s Day.
Lisbon gifted us a Sunday that felt like three days folded into one.
No agenda. Just presence. And a city in full bloom.
We started slow.
An unhurried breakfast in a tiny espresso bar, tucked into the city’s pulse.
Coffee thick and strong. Pastries flaky and warm.
My son — in his own sweet rhythm — rearranging the little ceramic beads from the plant decor with serious joy.
No rush. Just this: the beauty of watching him create new order in the middle of a busy café.
And then —
A tuk-tuk ride through winding streets,
to viewpoints that stole our breath,
to walls alive with color and story —
Lisbon’s street art unfolding like poetry on stone.
Eyes sparkling. Laughter loud and free.
His delight contagious. Mine multiplying.
We stumbled upon a hidden park,
green and generous,
where everything slowed.
Time, again, stopped keeping track.
There were bubbles on a plaza,
floating like little worlds through golden air.
A breeze from the sea. A scent of salt and sun.
And then — the perfect meal.
A restaurant that felt like a reward:
sublime food, rich wine, plates emptied with joy.
Every sense fed.
And still — the day was not done.
We walked by the ocean.
Saw horses grazing.
Drank Piña Colada from a fresh-cut pineapple.
Watched the afternoon stretch its limbs into a soft, sunlit pause.
Later, in the dusk:
A playground.
A guitarist strumming in the background.
My son still laughing.
Still discovering.
And finally —
The quietest moment of all:
Arms around each other,
hearts full,
memories already weaving themselves into something sacred.
Some days are pure abundance.
So saturated with love, joy, and aliveness
that they become nourishment for years to come.
Thank you, life.
Thank you, universe.
I felt it all.
And I slept —
not just tired —
but deeply, completely full.