Be patient with me as I learn to let you go.

I know it’s time. I know you’re growing and becoming and that sometimes it’s uncomfortable. Be patient with me because it’s not just you who is adjusting, my love. It’s me too.

I know it’s hard to understand, but hear me out.

I dreamed about you before you were a whisper or a reality. I dreamed of you when you were so tiny in my belly no one could see you, but me. I dreamed of you when I was bent over a toilet until there was nothing left. I dreamed of you while I laid on the couch telling Dad that yes, I was sure I needed fries ASAP and another episode of Lost. I dreamed of you and I treasured you as my belly made my pants tight and uncomfortable, as my legs swelled, and as my cheeks grew full and my dimples deeper. I dreamed of you on the sleepless nights holding my belly and counting contractions like the midwives told me I should. I dreamed of you as I gave my body over to something that was completely beyond my control.

I’d never felt such purpose and anticipation, my love.

I dreamed of you when the contractions radiated through my body and I knew this was it. I dreamed of you as I labored through a pain I didn’t know existed. In my heart I knew you were worth every breath, every pain, every push. I knew, because I was the one who carried you. I carried you in my womb, in my heart, and in my soul.

You were my dream before the world even knew you existed.

I dreamed of you as the hospital room became a war zone and I fought with all my strength for your entrance into the world.

And then you were on my chest, there you were, my dream; my reason, my heart. You were all my purpose in one tiny body, pressed against my soul.  Every second was worth it, every single second.

I never wanted to feel that pain again, but I also knew I’d do it a thousand times just to hold you in my arms. A mother’s love is unexplainable; it’s unreasonable; it’s undone. A mother’s love completely belongs to her children. There are no corridors of her heart that are off limits.

Every door is wide open for you; I am all yours.

And then you grew.

Every day I doubted myself. I struggled to become the woman who I felt you deserved. I wanted to give you the world, but my actions seemed to fall short.

I dreamed of your future as I spent sleepless nights with milk soaked sheets. I dreamed of you as you sat screaming at me from your timeout chair in the thick of your toddler years. I dreamed of you when I cried myself to sleep because I was sure I was doing it all wrong and I so badly wanted to get it all right. I dreamed of you when I snuggled your warm body after a bad dream. I dreamed of you when I held your hand and walked you to your first day of kindergarten. I dreamed of you as I watched you run onto the football field for the very first time.

Someday maybe you’ll see. Maybe you’ll hold your own baby on your chest for the very first time. Maybe your heart will shatter into a million pieces and be built again from scratch. A love like this is impossible to explain until you’ve had the chance to touch it.

These baby, these are the days I dreamed of. I dreamed of the person you’d become; I dreamed of seeing you fly. Please be patient with me my love, as I learn to let go and let you stretch your legs and use your voice. Be patient with me as I go through yet another transition and becoming.

You’re growing, and I am too.

You were my dream before the world got to share you. You were my dream before your very first breath.

Be patient with me as I unclench these fingers and loosen these hands that have held you. Be patient with me as I relax these arms that have carried you since the first day you breathed life. Be patient with me as I recognize that the time has come to do less protecting and holding and more listening and cheering.

I dreamed of you and here you are.

And still I dream.

I love you more than you will ever know.

Love,

Mama

***

For more like this can follow me (Jess of Wonderoak) here, on Facebook, and on Instagram. Thank you for stopping by!!

Look, I know that’s tempting. I dropped the F-bomb at the kiddy park today when my dog pulled over my stroller and later mom-handled a isntshetoooldforthis tantrum from my four-year-old. In that moment, I remembered how my friend used to use a fake name at the bar, and considered that that might be a good idea for me at the park. Hello, I’m Veronica and these are my kids Kevin, Stuart, Jenny, and Britney. You will not find us on Facebook. Please forget we ever met, kthanksbye.

On my walk home, I remembered for the thousandth time that the only people I want in my life are the ones who take me as I am. I am a mom who has five months of hair grow out, enjoys long walks alone at Trader Joes, and swears when startled. That is who I am. I am also madly in love with my kids and husband, I’m a loyal friend, and I’m passionate about social justice issues.

If someone doesn’t accept you with your flaws, they don’t deserve your gifts either.

The mom-koolaid is the idea that we have to have it together, and it’s a load of toddler poop (toddler poop comes second only to dog poop in grossness amiright?). Connection requires that we keep it real, and honestly, motherhood has required that I keep it more real than ever before.

Being a mom has pulled out all the gold in my heart, and it has pulled out all the crap too. I thought I was patient-ish until I became a mom. If someone had ever recorded my husband and I’s middle of the night feeding conversations, you’d know what I mean. It was really precious.

Motherhood accentuates our flaws and it enlarges our hearts 1000x its original size at the same time. It IS MESSY, it is exhausting, and you need people who GET IT and GET YOU more than ever.

I think there is so much shame attached to our flaws as parents because it matters so much to us. I’ve never wanted to be good at anything more than I want to be good at being my kids’ mom. I want to stay connected to their precious hearts forever. The facts are though, I make mistakes daily. I struggle with being the best I can be while shaking off the mom guilt that sometimes grips my heart.

My current struggle is with how distracted I am through the day. I’m distracted with my phone, distracted with my work, distracted with the fact that I’m pretty sure my butt is getting big. This struggle is exactly that though, it’s a struggle. It’s a wrestling with wanting to be the best I can be, while also loving myself how I am (just like I want my kids to love themselves how they are).

Motherhood is wonderful, it’s beautiful, it’s messy as hell, and it has the potential to be a very lonely job.

Don’t drink the mom-Koolaid. NO ONE has it all together. I PROMISE.

You have nothing to prove.

If you are around people that make you feel like you’ve got to pretend to fit in, either stop pretending and see what happens, or find new friends.

You are worth it exactly as you are today, and if you don’t have any one else to say this, let me say it:

I see you in your mess and your flaws and YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL.

Your kids love you more than you think.

Your tribe is out there, I promise.

***

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I’m laying on my bed hiding right now. I can hear the kids bickering as they get ready for bed, and a little voice calling for water and a song. I’m tired and weary to my bones. I will get up anyway. I will go kiss little foreheads and pray a prayer. I will get the extra sip of water and I will listen while they tell me about their toe with the sliver. I will say, “Okay sweetie, no more talking. It’s time to sleep now, ” but then I will still say “uh-huh” a couple more times as I sneak out the door.

Now that I’m a mom, I’ve learned that motherhood is a lot more about showing up than it is about anything else.

It’s about showing up when you are tired, and scared, and exhausted, and mad. It’s pulling yourself through the motions when you have nothing left to give.

There were times in my life when I expected perfection from you. I expected you to know what to say and to never get tired or upset. I expected you to be a goddess instead of a mother, and now I know; now I get it.

I dream back about my life and I can imagine how you must have felt (just like I do now). I can imagine it because I’ve walked ten miles in your shoes.

Now I know, you were perfect.

I don’t judge a single decision that you made, or a single thing you said. I get it. I understand.

I understand what you sacrificed. I understand now how you laid your life down for my brother and I. I understand how you put things on hold to give us all you could. I understand how you wrestled with every decision you made.

I imagine how you must have felt the first time you held us in your arms. How you must have felt such love, such magic, and been oh so overwhelmed.

I imagine the tears you must have cried, that I will never know about.

No matter what happened in our lives everything felt stable because of you. “It will be fine, you’ll be fine, we are fine,” you said. Now I know that you said that even when you were scared.

In my teen years and my young adulthood I looked for what broke me. There was so much talk about counseling and inner healing. All those things are good, sure, but I was broken because we are all broken. It wasn’t anyone’s fault and it definitely wasn’t yours.

You did your best and that is the most precious gift anyone has ever given me.

You showed up again and again and again.

You came and tucked me in when you were weary to the bone. You tried your best to get it right, and you apologized when you thought you got it wrong.

I will never again hold you or anyone else to the impossible standard of perfect.

Thank you Mom.

You did an amazing job.

I understand, and now I know.

I know my kids won’t understand half of what I do. I know I will frustrate and confuse them. I know there will be times when they will wonder at how I let them down, and that’s okay. I haven’t been perfect, I have made lots and lots of mistakes, but I will keep showing up again and again and again…

just like you did.

Maybe one day they’ll walk ten miles in my shoes and they will know, but even if they don’t, I’m okay with that.

You taught me how to be a mother, and amazing mother…

Thank you Mom.

***

For more like this you can follow me here, on Facebook, and on Instagram.

Like do you mean right now while my kid is spread eagle on the Target floor demanding a slushy? Do you mean when I make dinner and half of the family is crying because it looks weird? Do you mean when I clean the toilets and I wonder how the pee reached the corner under the trash can?

I can do it; it’s worth it. But enjoying every minute is a different type of pressure.

In truth, there are a whole lot of minutes I feel annoyed or tired.

Being a mom is hard work, and that’s okay. It’s okay to admit it. It’s okay to cry about it and to vent about it. That doesn’t make us bad at this, and it doesn’t mean we love our kids any less.

It makes us human. It makes us “doing the best we can”.

I didn’t enjoy every minute when my nipples were cracked and bleeding, when I was falling asleep sitting up because I was so tired. I was anxious, I was milk-soaked, and I was overwhelmed.

When I look back at pictures of my babies during that time, I wish for them back. I wish so hard. It WAS way too fast.

BUT, if I look back at myself, a brand new mama, I wouldn’t tell her to enjoy every minute. I’d tell her to just breathe, it’s all going to turn out fine. I’d tell her she seemed like a fantastic Mom. I’d tell her it’s okay to be overwhelmed sometimes, and that we all are. I’d tell her not to listen to the voices that question her every move (whether internal or external). I’d tell her to enjoy what she could and cry (or scream into a pillow) when she needed to. I’d tell her that motherhood is a constant state of becoming someone we didn’t use to be, and that transition can be hard as crap. I’d tell her it would be worth it and she was going to do great.

I’d tell her not to lose herself.

I’d tell her she was enough (even though it is the hardest thing in the world to believe it).

I’d tell her there are other people whose microwaves look just as gross as hers.

I’d tell her to give away the pants that don’t fit.

I’d tell her that she will NOT under any circumstance be able to enjoy every minute.

I’d tell her to tell to speak her truth when it was hard. I’d tell her she’d find a wonderful community of women that way.

My kids are all past toddlerhood now and I still don’t enjoy every minute. Not even close. I struggle really hard to be present sometimes. There has never been a time when my kids were arguing or whining where I thought “this is so enjoyable“. What I thought was, GOD HELP ME NOT LOSE MY EVERLOVING MIND.

I know it’s easy to remember the highlights and forget the sweat and tears that come with parenting, just like we forget the pain of childbirth. When I think of my sweet babies snuggled in my arms, a part of my heart breaks in half, because it was the best and most wonderful.

But would you remember with me just for a moment?

Would you remember the sore nipples?

Would you remember the sleepless nights and the tears spent wondering if you were doing it right?

Would you remember the fog that comes with being a mom in the thick of it?

Would you remember the messy parts of raising kids?

Would you remember the constant-constant of motherhood?

Would you let us know you remember?

I’m already sad that this will be over before I know it. I already wish I could slow time down, but that doesn’t make this less intense and constant.

They are worth every tear, they are worth every glass of wine, they are worth IT ALL.

When these moments are all over I’m positive I will wish for them all  back.

But this is hard too and that’s okay.

We will enjoy what moments we can like flecks of gold hidden in mountains of dirty laundry and a drawing I just found on my favorite couch pillow.

***

For more like this you can follow me here, on Facebook, and on Instagram.

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For every 20 shirts sold, one shirt will be sent to someone in need of some sisterly support (this is done via nomination on Facebook and Instagram).

Sister, I am with you is a message of solidarity between moms and women. It says I AM FOR you no matter what.

I don’t care if your house looks like the bottom of a cereal box. I don’t care if you’re makeup is fresh or three days old. I don’t care if you smile a lot, cry a lot, or yell a lot. I don’t care if you breastfeed or bottle feed, or if you like a glass of whiskey at the end of a long day. I don’t care if motherhood fits you like a glove or like a too-tight pair of pants that ride up the nether regions. I don’t care if you house smells like lavender or dirty diapers. I don’t care if you stay at home or have a full-time job. I don’t care if you’re keto or paleo or eat a lot of frozen pizza and carrot sticks.

I AM FOR YOU. Sister, I am with you.

10% of proceeds will go to Women for Women International to support and empower women in areas of conflict and war.

ALSO, join Wonderoak Tribe on Facebook.

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 find myself in these positions as much as I used to, and today my sanity stayed intact. It was partly due to the kindness of strangers cheering in my court, and it was partly because I’d already finished a double espresso on ice.

My friend said she broke into a cold sweat on my behalf though.

When the other kids got home from school they were like wild, feral children. They hollered and beat their chests and jumped on furniture like they’d never been in a house before.  I shooshed them and admonished them to pleasefortheloveofgodcalmdown. It didn’t really work by the way, but we survived.

Even so, as we sat around the dinner table tonight and I looked at each of their faces, I had one of those moments where my heart was filled with gratitude.

Even though my life is notably crazy.

Even though they are wild, feral, opinionated, obnoxious, and exhausting.

I remembered why I do this. The world stopped spinning in chaos and I forgot all about my mental list of to-dos. I stopped and I saw. I watched them while they told their stories and ate their pasta. I laughed when they giggled hysterically at their own jokes.

I remembered why I chose a life of absolute insanity, instead of one where my hair is washed and my pants smell nice. I remembered why I choose to live a life of constantly repeating instructions and dragging children off of playground equipment they do not want to leave. I remembered why I don’t mind that my kids are bottomless pits forever asking for snacks.

I didn’t choose them because it would be easy, I chose them because I wanted to give my heart away to something that mattered.

I have given it away, and I never want it back.

It doesn’t really matter if I spend ten minutes hostage on a bench in public. It doesn’t really matter if I spend an afternoon corralling them like wild buffalo.

Sometimes the moments where I truly “see” are few and far between. Sometimes I find myself caught in survival and simply breathing through a tantrum so I don’t start screaming too. That’s normal, I think. I don’t think there is anything wrong with feeling the pain of the life we choose. It isn’t always easy and it requires all of our strength. It requires that we show up again and again and again. It requires that we see our own flaws in the plain light of day and it is hard sometimes.

I think it’s healthy to share the struggle, because make no mistake…it IS a struggle. Pretending it’s something we can “enjoy every second of” isn’t helpful for anyone and acknowledging the struggle doesn’t make our joy or our gratitude any less.

I am so grateful to have so many moments that I do enjoy with all of my heart, and I am so grateful for the rest of it because it is all so very worth it.

I wish I could squeeze time into a bottle and save it forever.

They smell like sunshine and wild air. They are so very precious.

I chose this life, I choose it, and I will keep choosing it from now until forever.

So, my friend, whether you are having a moment of nostalgia or a moment of surviving you’re doing it right. We all have both. I am cheering you on from the sidelines…just like those ladies did for me today.

***

Jess Johnston writes about motherhood and keepin’ it real here at wonderoak.com, on Facebook, and on Instagram.

Photo by the hubs @grahamsjohnston.

And then they handed you a baby. Your baby. It was magic. You felt everything, and didn’t feel anything. You glimpsed heaven for a minute and you also wondered if you were feeling everything you’re “supposed to feel” in that moment.

Let’s get one thing straight right away…

There is no “supposed to”. You get to feel whatever you feel the entire way, and believe me…you will feel all of the things.

In just a couple short days they said, “Let’s check your carseat and send you home.”

You might have thought…with me?? Are you sure?? Who will help me get my latch right and make sure I’m having bowel movements??

You are beginning on a crazy, beautiful, journey and even if it doesn’t feel like it, this calling will soon fit like a glove.

In the (short) eleven years I’ve spent parenting, here are some things I’ve learned and things to expect…

1. When you try and eat anything your kids will appear. They will be like sharks who’ve smelled blood in the water. They start this the second they’re born. You put a fork in your mouth and they begin screaming like they haven’t eaten in 47 hours. When they’re older it will go like this…

What are you eating?

Nothing.

It doesn’t smell like nothing.

It’s medicine.

What?

With vegetables in it.

It looks like ice cream.

I can’t really talk about it right now.

2. “I slept like a baby” is the worst saying ever. What do they mean exactly? That they woke up crying 19 times in 8 hours and each time they had to make themselves a sandwich?

You will probably sleep like crap for a long time. You might be the rare exception, but probably not. You will experience the kind of tired that makes you want to go slap your pre-parent self in the face. Just remember…this too will pass. You will sleep again (mostly, sort of). Until then coffee.

3. Take care of yourself. I mean it. No one can run on empty forever. Go on a walk, go out for drinks with the hubs or friends. Take a long bath. Trust other people with your baby. Re-fuel your soul. You can do this, but you have to treat yourself well.

4. Gift shops are a TRAP, avoid them at all cost. You must keep at least twenty yards between you and that zoo gift shop. Your kids will say, “Mom I just want to look!”

Listen to me.

THEY ARE LYING.

They will not just look. They will fall in love with a stuffed tortoise and name him Felix. Felix will cost $99.99. Before you know it you will be dragging your spawn out while they scream NO FELIX NOOOOOOOO!

It will be like a very sad movie where everyone thinks you are kidnapping your own kid.

What a fun game.

5. Making promises is almost always a terrible idea. KIDS DO NOT FORGET ANYTHING EVER.

And remember…if you promise a bike ride a rainstorm and a headache will come, it’s science.

6. If you clean the house, they will wreck it. Every time.

Daily dilemmas include:

Should I sweep so they can spill breakfast on a clean floor?

Should I vacuum the car before they throw up in it?

Should I put a clean shirt on them so that they roll in the dirt?

Should I make healthy food so they can cry about it and finally eat one bite?

7. DO. NOT. GOOGLE. EVER. When in doubt call the doctor. Don’t ever google anything unless you enjoy panic attacks in the middle of the night.

8. You will nail parenting sometimes, and other times you will completely screw up. Period. Everybody is learning and trying their best. When you win, give yourself credit for being amazing. When you lose, say sorry, and then give yourself credit for being amazing. Love covers a multitude of mistakes and remember, you aren’t alone. WE ARE ALL MAKING THEM TOGETHER.

9. Time will go so quickly and so slowly. You will love your kids so hard it will feel like an actual knife in the heart. You will also have moments where you wonder if they have boarding schools for three-year-olds. Motherhood is full of contradictions. It’s normal and emotional, roll with it.

10. Don’t forget to find a tribe. Find the moms who get it. Find the ones who won’t judge you when the floor of your suburban looks like the land fill. The ones who will get coffee (or wine) at a moments notice. Find your people. They are out there just like you. You are not alone, ever.

10. Don’t worry, you’ve got this. I promise. You don’t need to be perfect (no one is) and you don’t need to know everything (no one does). Don’t forget to ask for help. Give yourself a break, kiss those little cheeks, and pat yourself on the back. You’re doing just fine.

I love the quote that says…

“Behind every great kid is a mom who’s pretty sure she’s screwing it up.” (author unknown)

You aren’t the only one who doubts she has what it takes. WE ALL DO THAT, and here’s the truth:

Keep loving.

Keep apologizing.

Keep forgiving (yourself).

You are going to be a way better mom than you think.

***

You can follow Jess and her crazy beautiful mess here, on Facebook, and on Instagram.

*P.S. If anyone knows the author of the quote please enlighten me!

A friend of mine researches every health related issue, and spends her extra change on the supplements she reads about. It is her passion, and it’s how she loves her family and friends so well. I spend that money on lattes and stretch pants.

I look at the “Wait Until 8th” pledge and think, hell-if-my-kids-will-have-smart-phones- before-they’re-sixteen-atleast. I may end up eating my words (God knows I have before), but I just don’t want the internet in the back pocket of my teens. I have friends that give their kids phones as soon as they start playing sports. I totally get it. We both gotta do what we feel is best for our kids.

I have a friend that rarely (if ever) raises her voice or loses her cool. I DON’T ACTUALLY KNOW HOW SHE DOES IT. I would call my parenting style “fiery with lots of fire”. If I’m mad, or sad, or scared…my kids know it, but they also know that I love them fiercely.

I have a friend who keeps life simple so they can afford to send their kids to private school. She makes daily sacrifices to continue their education. Her love and dedication to her kids is amazing, and I’m humbled when I think about it, but I don’t blink twice when I drop my kids by the flagpole at our local elementary.

We are all good parents.

I choose babysitters like I’m recruiting for the FBI. It is a strenuous process. My friend will knock on the neighbor’s door and ask if the nearest tween would be willing to pop over for a minute while she runs to the grocery store. She high-fives the youth as she sprints out the door.

I am outnumbered by sisters who homeschool. They are good at it, and I can tell that it has had a healthy impact on their kids. I tried homeschooling once. I want my kids to still like me (and also know how to read), so I stopped. It’s not for me; I’m not good at it.

I have friends who baby-wised, who co-slept, and who attachment parented. I have friends who nursed and who bottle fed. I have friends that feed their kids snacks after dinner, and those who don’t. I’ve got friends who are working moms and stay-at-home-moms.

We are all over the map.

We are all good parents.

We need to trust ourselves more.

Each of us makes different decisions for our kids, but we are all fantastic moms. Do you know how I know that? Because we love them. We love them with our whole hearts and we do our best. Each of us would stand in front of an oncoming bus to protect them.

We would walk through fire for them, and sometimes we do.

The internet is a liar; there’s no “one-way” to do this well. WE DO OUR BEST…and guess what? OUR BEST IS ENOUGH, and even if it isn’t…that’s all we can offer.

There are a thousand, million, opinions out there about the “right” way to parent.

Sometimes we gotta let that shit go, and trust our gut.

There are some things that are out of our control, but as Jack from This is Us said,

We’re their parents,

we do the best we can,

but at the end of the day…

what happens to them?

It’s bigger than us.

Why is it so hard to trust ourselves when it comes to parenting?

Is it because we’re scared? Is it because parenthood has become more like an Olympic sport than an organic process? Is it because we look back at the mistakes our parents made and are scared to make the same ones?  Is it because we’ve realized that the standard we judged our parents by was actually pretty unfair and even impossible?

Is it because we think the preschool we choose might be the actual difference between raising a humanitarian or a drug dealer? Is it because we doubt that our love is enough? Is it because we long for a futuristic thanksgiving table full of friendship and laughter…not one we saw once on a SNL sketch?

Yes, I think so.

A word to my generation of moms…

We’ve got this. Mom guilt is a liar and the internet is a liar. No one can do it all. Trust your gut and do the best you can…we are in this together.

The kids are going to be fine.

For more like this you can follow me here, on Facebook, and on Insta.

These photos are compliments of the amazing @isaacjohnston at isaacjohnston.co.

The cashier tells me the total and I open up my purse. Damn. There are like 400 receipts, 5 hot wheels, 2 graham crackers, and mass amounts of tampons to dig through. I imagine the people behind me sighing. Half a chocolate chip cookie and a sock fall to the ground as I finally pull it out triumphantly. How you like me now? While I swipe it I think; did I transfer that money? I can’t remember…fingers crossed.

I hear the receipt printing as the three-year-old shrieks for the thousandth time, “THIRSTY! THIRSTY! THIRSTY!” I want to be like, “Listen guys don’t call the authorities, it’s high fructose corn syrup she’s after.” I take a second look at the people behind me though, and none of them look fooled. They all look like either drill sergeants or high school principals. They also look like they would rather be on a space ship to Mars than behind me in line right now.

I feel relief rushing over me as the cashier tears off the reciept and hands it to me to sign. It is only then that I hear the “Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Listen Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom.” It’s my eight year old. My eight year old’s voice is like white noise to me. It has something to do with the tone…I NEVER HEAR HIM.

WHAT?! I ask very sweetly, because I feel very sweet when I am red and embarrassed and sweating profusely.

“Can we get…”

“NO.”

“What are we doing tomorrow?”

“NO.”

It is then that someone says, “Wow, you sure have your hands full…” and then laughs awkwardly like this is something I have never heard before.

Listen stranger who is wearing clean pants,

I have something to tell you…

It has been exactly eight years since I have gone ANYWHERE publicly with my kids and NOT been told that. Eight years since I had my second son and suddenly my hands were “full”. This has been society’s prime (if not only) commentary on my life.

YES, I do have my hands full.

Saying this is not helpful.

I won’t clobber you if you say this and I won’t throw a moldy pb&j at you either…I won’t even be offended, but there are a lot of things that would be awesome to say, and this is not one of them. This is like saying to a person who’s balding, “Wow, no hair huh? Your scalp is shiny.”

Here are a few ideas of other things to say:

Your family is adorable. Especially that one who’s red and screaming.

I can tell you’re a good parent by the way you pinned your six year old like that…do you work out?

I like your yoga pants.

Can I offer you a glass of wine?

Listen people, I would even settle for a fist bump. 

Yes my hands are full, but this isn’t something unfortunate that has happened to me like a house fire or a fender bender.

I like each of my kids, in fact, I love them. They are treasures that have brought more joy to my life than I could ever possibly describe.

This life is a gift that I’m thankful for every. single. day.

Some days, just not until I’ve had a hot shower and a glass of wine.

No regrets.

I chose these kids and I chose this life.

Now if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll do my bi-annual purse cleaning.

***

*Now to those who are about to comment that those people had the best intentions, I know, this is all in fun ;).

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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.

I’m too busy yelling that everyone needs to STOP YELLING and then wondering if I will ever be able to stop yelling. It’s not really looking good for any of us.

I’m too busy letting my three-year-old use a pacifier and my six-year-old wear Cinderella underwear as a bathing suit.

I’m too busy trying not to fight with my husband in front of the kids even though sometimes we make each other crazy (ESPECIALLY IN THE CAR). I say trying, because last week my three-year-old asked me why daddy and I sometimes argue like little kids.

I’m too busy wondering if that wet spot is from water, juice, or urine.

I’m too busy trying to assess if that Pterodactyl scream was a “we’re having fun” scream or a “blood has been shed” scream.

I’m too busy making risky calls like should I let my son wear that shirt with spaghetti sauce on it to church and do I tell my girls that it’s actually a “vagina” not a “bagina” even though bagina is way more awesome?

I’m too damn busy apologizing to my kids. I’m apologizing for misunderstanding them, for getting grumpy, for bumping their head on a doorway, for not believing them that their tummy hurt until they projectile vomited and for throwing away that ginormous popsicle stick art project they brought home from school.

I’m too busy apologizing FOR my kids, like, “sorry they ate all your snacks and asked you if there’s a baby in your belly”.

I’m too busy being overwhelmed by the fact that it’s already dinner time AGAIN and the food is still at the grocery store.

I’m too busy because this parenting gig is flying by at lightning speed and I’m hanging on for dear life hoping that when it’s over they will look back and say we were loved.

I’m not going to judge your parenting because IT’S HARD and YOU are the qualified one.

I’m not qualified because I don’t worry about your kids like you do. I don’t lie awake at night wrestling with decisions about schools, and friends, and behaviors, and obstacles in their precious lives. I don’t love them, ache for them, feed them, or say sorry to them like you do. I don’t know them. I don’t know their dreams or what makes them tick.

I’m eleven years in and I am now more certain than ever that there isn’t “one way” to do this well. I’m just trying to figure out how to parent my own kids and how many margaritas I can have without getting a hangover. Life is complicated.

If we can’t be real and share the struggle, then it just doesn’t work for me.

I’m a fan of all MOMS.

I’m too damn busy for anything else.

***

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Yesterday you asked me why your older brother always gets to choose. We were staying in a vacation rental and I’d given him the choice of beds since he’s the tallest and the most likely to be uncomfortable. “He’s always going to be older,” you said, “so he’s always going to choose.” You imitated me in a perfected ‘mom voice’; “‘Malachi gets to choose because he’s ten’; pretty soon it’s going to be, ‘Malachi gets to choose because he’s eleven;'” you laughed and I laughed, but I understood that your question was real and you felt something deeper than you let on.

I also understood that I was guilty as charged.

Sometimes I don’t see that you get lost in the shuffle between oldest and youngest. I miss it, and I’m so sorry.

You’re big, but you’re not the biggest. You’re little, but you’re not the littlest. You’re strong, but you’re not the strongest. You don’t know the most about math or reading. You can’t run the fastest or stay up the latest. Someday that will change, but for now this is your truth. Sometimes I think that is a lonely truth for you.

You little sisters are handfuls in their own right. They still need us to brush their teeth and roll their salad into a tiny ball to help them eat it. You don’t need that much help anymore, but you still need some.

You’re older brother is becoming a pre-teen; his body odor and the rules for him are changing. As he grows and changes, I can see that you feel a little left behind. You want to keep up, but it’s not quite time.

You are in the middle: “not there anymore” and “not quite there”.

And that son, is right where you belong.

Let me tell you something, let me set the record straight from now until forever:

YOU ARE SPECIAL.

YOU ARE UNIQUE.

YOU ARE SO SO VERY IMPORTANT TO US.

No one else on the planet could fill the place in our hearts that belongs to you. We will never give it away and we will never share it with someone else. That space is for you and for you alone.

It doesn’t matter to us if you’re the strongest or the fastest or if you know more things than your older brother or your younger sister. We love you for you. You don’t need to hurry to catch up, or try and slow down. You are special to us because you are you and you belong right exactly where you are.

We love you, we love you, we love you.

There’s never been someone like you before, and there will never be someone like you again. This family wouldn’t, couldn’t, be the same without you. You are the core, you are the rhythm, you are the piece of upmost importance.

You have a fabulous heart and kind intentions. You have the best sense of humor and you are the protector of those you love. You are an observer and you notice things the rest of us never would. You are diligent about justice and fairness. You are quick on your feet and keen in your observations. You aren’t loud. You choose your words, you think deeply, and when you speak it matters.

I’m sorry, Son, that sometimes you feel lost in the shuffle. I’m sorry that you sometimes wonder where you fit and if you belong. I’m so sorry that sometimes you notice that your vote and your voice don’t seem to matter as much. That’s my fault and I will work on it.

I’m learning Son, thank you for teaching me.

You may not be the tallest or the oldest, but next time we stay in a vacation rental I want you to choose.

Love,

Mama

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