Dear Husband, Family Members, Santa, Friends,
In case you wondering what it is my heart desires…
1. A toddler play yard except I need it to be much bigger and taller. I don’t plan on keeping my kids in it, I plan on keeping my kids out. I will call it “Mommy’s personal space” or “Please don’t touch me right now”. I’m going to bring it to the playground because when I take my kids to the playground (imagine this) I want them to PLAY. I provide gas, and transportation, they must provide play. I want to sit on a bench and observe them at play. I want to feel the sun and drink my coffee while they are at play. What I do not want to do is talk about boredom or snacks.
I am the santa, the elves, and the magic.
I am the delicious smells, the stuffed bellies, and the Christmas spirit.
I am the twinkle lights, the clean bathrooms, and the mistletoe hanging in the doorway.
I am the stories, the advent calendars, and the reminding what Christmas is really about.
I am the greeting cards, I am the coordinator of grandparents and cousins, I am the christmas pajamas for the night before.
I am the traditions, I am the baker for school sales, I am the buyer of last minute presents that were forgotten.
And now I’m tired.
I am mom.
I love to shop. I love to go into beautiful stores and touch beautiful things. I have kids now though and it turns out they also like to touch things…all of the things. Each shopping trip starts full of hope that this time will somehow be “different”, but it always ends the same…with someone crying under a clothing rack next to a bag of spilled popcorn. Also they hardly ever offer me wine at the store. So, though I love shopping local, I also like shopping braless, pant-less, ALONE, and with a glass of red wine.
I recently partnered with Amazon and I get a small percentage of purchases when someone clicks through my site. I love amazon (not just saying that) and PRIME is the shiznit, especially when you’re a procrastinator like me. So here friends, is my first ever Christmas gift guide.
You are not a failure.
I know you don’t always believe that, but it’s true.
We all fail, all of us, but we are not failures.
There have been so many moments when I felt done, when I wanted to run outside and scream. So many moments when I knew I said the wrong thing the second the words came out of my mouth.
Today I met some friends in town for coffee and shopping. I ended up bear hugging my four-year-old on a bench as she screamed and kicked in a level ninety-nine tantrum. A shop owner came out of a pottery store with wide eyes, but her face softened when she saw me.
I’m so sorry I mouthed.
“You are totally fine!” She smiled encouragingly. A minute later a woman and her older daughter walked by and said, “You’ve got this mama! You’re doing a great job!”
I continued on as a human straight jacket.
I don’t know about you, but sometimes the negative self talk sneaks up on me. It hits my subconscious before my conscious thoughts. It might start with a sigh when I button my pantts I need to eat less, I need to workout more. It might be when I look at the floor covered in dust bunnies and sandwich crumbs, my house is always disgusting, what is my problem?
It doesn’t matter where it starts, but it always has a common thread. The message is:
Do more. Be more.
You aren’t okay just how you are. Other people are okay how they are, but you’re not.
The last week has been like that for me. The stress below the surface has been building like a pent up hurricane. I don’t like to dwell on it, so I push it down, but sometimes I need to stop and address it. I don’t know where it comes from, or why it is, but it sneaks up and distracts me from everything that is actually important.
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.
Welcome my friend, you’ve got this. It doesn’t seem like it now, but you will grow into motherhood just as gradually and quickly as the brand new baby you’re holding in your arms. It will become you, it already has. You just went through the most mind blowing, godawful, gorgeous, magical, frightening event of your life. No one prepared you. They kind of tried, but they forgot to use the words “blow torch” and “freight train” and “concrete drill” to describe what you might feel when your little one was born earth side.
We are a family who loves each other. We love each other in a messy, beautiful, broken, and together way. Sometimes that means making messes in the kitchen with spaghetti sauce finger prints on the glasses and stains on the tablecloth. Sometimes it means trying to scrape together tiny remnants of sanity for bedtime routines. Sometimes it means kissing a dirty forehead as I tuck them in at night and thinking it’s okay, they’ll take a bath tomorrow.
In our family we fight. We argue about things. We say we’re sorry. We overreact and then we apologize. We take a minute in the other room to pull ourselves together. Some of us are more full of passion than others, and I take full ownership of my title as Queen.