My ears are tired. Everyone is just always talking, all the time. Do not tell my kids that I said this, but sometimes when they are telling me a story that is never-ending I think about what color I would like to paint the walls and if I should get more throw pillows. I feel terrible about this, but it is the truth.
Sometimes I peek in your door and watch you sleeping. I wonder how I could ever get mad or frustrated at you. Your soft face is squished against your pillow and your favorite stuffed animal is buried under your chin.
Today I was irritated that you left your notebooks and crayons all over the floor.
I was annoyed that I could hear you bickering in the other room.
I was bothered that I asked you to clean up five times before you did.
All of those things are silly and unimportant now, as I pause.
Those things have little to do with you and everything to do with me.
You are my favorite.
When we got to the beach today children, sand, and food wrappers exploded out of the car as soon as the doors opened, and I laughed to myself. I picked up a rotten tangerine that had rolled under the car and tossed it in the trash. The boys shook the whole vehicle as they wrestled their way out of their seat belts. They were yelling so loudly I thought maybe I should clarify to people walking by that there were no actual violence happening, just kids “at play”. My third child sobbed because she had an “owie” (also known as a sock imprint) on her ankle, and now she couldn’t walk.
I had a few comments on the blog recently about how people have kids to fill a selfish need for love.
I laughed because even if I had kids to fill a selfish need, parenting is where all needs come to die.
It’s okay to fail, and to fail again and again and again.
There’s something special about my bond with you. It isn’t better or more important, it’s just different. You were the beginning of my awakening, the step through the portal that is motherhood. Your becoming was my becoming. The day you were born I said goodbye to one life and ran with open arms into the next.
I can still picture you cradled in my arms. I stared at your tiny face in disbelief. How was I going to give you, this precious human, the childhood you deserved? I still haven’t figured that out. Every day I make beautiful things and I make messes too, but there’s never been a calling more worthy of my everything than you.
It’s okay to be mad at me.
Sometimes we make decisions for you that you don’t agree with or understand. You feel voiceless and frustrated.
Sometimes I overreact and I misunderstand.
Sometimes you just have a bad day. It’s okay, I have those days too.
I look at you sleeping next to me.
Sometimes we are too worn out to talk at the end of the day. I turn on Game of Thrones until your breathing grows heavy. I wiggle next to you and try to startle you awake because I want to see what happens next, but that only buys me a few minutes. Sometimes I finish the episode by myself, but I don’t like that as much.
You are so tired. I am too, but my mind races at night. My tired turns into stress and overthinking and throwing the blankets off and pulling them back on. Yours turns into snoring.
I decided to take the girls school shopping today. I LOVE SHOPPING, ALL SHOPPING, so I was excited.
I may have overshot my expectations.
First things first we got Starbucks. I got a triple, and I got cookie dough cake pops for the girls. They thought they were too sweet and now I don’t even know if I’m raising them right. Don’t worry, I ate all of them because WE DO NOT WASTE IN THIS FAMILY.
I’m too damn busy.
I’m too busy making mistakes and praying my kids turn out alright anyway.
I’m too busy looking at my musty smelling laundry pile and wondering if I should fold it or light it all on fire.
I’m too busy teaching my kids good work ethics which means saying “stop playing and keep cleaning” over and over until everyone is crying.
Dear Strong Willed Child,
Today we had many battles you and I. We had battles in the sun, battles in the sand, battles over popsicles, and a battle while I walked you screaming and kicking back to the house. You were red and fuming, I fought back tears. We’ve had thousands of battles you and I.
Today our battles were about little kid things, someday they might be about curfew or boys or doing the dishes.
No matter what, here’s what I want you to know:
Sometimes when I don’t know someone and I see them wearing makeup, I kind of assume that they are also good at everything else, like cooking and having a clean bathroom for example. Their children probably worship them while arguing over who gets to fold the laundry and take out the trash. So, incase you’ve seen me wear makeup, I want to set the record straight.
I am not a Super-Mom, and these are my confessions:
I love screens and I love screen time. Possibly more than my children love them. If Netflix or Amazon Prime were people I would want to marry them. I hide this love, just like I hide my love for those tacos from Taco Bell with the cheesy Dorito flavored shells on them, or how I binge watched Sister Wives that one time. There’s some things you just don’t share.
I usually engage in conversations about the impending doom caused by iPads with a solemn head shake, but my inside voice says, Girl, you’re good, Wild Kratts is educational.