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.

It was magic. Birth is magic. It is terrible, it is messy, and it is brilliant. After 24 hours of hard labor and zero results, my friend had gotten a epidural. She cracked jokes as she nibbled graham crackers between pushing contractions. What a bad ass. She was so strong and so powerful…I have never seen her so beautiful. Her husband stroked her head and held her hand as she used all her strength to bring new life into the world.

We cheered her on like it was the World Cup. At one point we offered to leave the room and the midwife looked at us intently, “No, she needs you – she pushes harder when you encourage her.”

“This is how it used to be,” she said, “Women gathered, supporting each other during birth.”

As she gave the final push, Flora Milo became, and I watched her dear parents also become. They will never be the same. We all burst into tears as this tiny being was placed on Allie’s chest. Magic. Blood, sweat, and tears, had brought them to this moment. Crushed hearts, tragic loss, health battles, and doctors that said this moment would never happen…yet here they are.

And here is this baby who says I beg to differ.

And we cry, because magic.

As I held this precious one, I thought of my own babes when they were brand new earth-side…and my heart hurt. I remember the magic. I remember the simplicity of eat, sleep, eat, sleep.

That night I was looking for pictures, and I came across Facebook posts from 2 and 3 years ago. My heart sank. Their precious tiny faces.  Oh how I miss it! How’d it go by so quickly? The moment didn’t seem special when I was in it. It seemed stressful and hectic. It seemed like something to survive until everyone was finally in their beds, fast asleep.

I was disturbed by the regret that gripped my heart. What was I worried about then? I was worried about my pant size and whether Scout would ever stop throwing tantrums. I was worried about the budget and whether or not my floor was clean. I was worried about me.

How am I ever going to stop worrying so much about me??

I have somehow misplaced this magic. This magic that lives and breathes and wakes up in my house every morning.

Haven with her big hair and puffy eyes. She sometimes is cute, other times she growls in response to our cheer with clenched fists and an arched neck. Her eyes say DO NOT SPEAK THESE GOOD MORNING words to me.

It will get better when you can have coffee dear-heart, hang in there.

Magic.

Magic is the smell of Oaklee after a bath. It is all of us dancing in the living room to Shakira and Robin Thicke after movie night. Magic is when Haven sings to Bob the cat about how she wasn’t trying to hurt him. It is Scout crying because Malachi got in trouble. It is that four kids ask to have sleepovers together on their bedroom floor.

Magic.

There is magic happening all around me every day…why do I miss it?

Sometimes there is no coffee strong enough. Sometimes I look inside my bottom fridge drawer and witness things a person can never un-see. Sometimes it’s the whining and the bickering and it’s the constant of eat, clean, eat, clean. Sometimes it’s that life is painful and it feels like it is closing in from every side.

It’s the constant, persistent, wondering if I am doing this. all. wrong.

It’s the wondering if I can really raise these children into the incredible adults I know they can be. Will they be kind? Will they be strong? Will they be healthy?

I think about my friend giving birth.

Could it be that the process and pain of labor isn’t really over? Our mother hearts are in the wringer daily. With each transition and every stage of growth – our minds often scream, “I CANNOT DO THIS.”

And we lose the magic…

for good reason.

Because it is damn. hard.

Birth isn’t that magical when you’re doing it. It is a lot more like pain and really really hard work.

But, we are not doing it alone. We are a sisterhood. A sisterhood of flawed mothers doing our very best.

So my friend, wherever you are at, and whatever your story,

As one flawed mama to another,

I want to take your hand and say LISTEN TO ME. YOU ARE A BAD ASS. You are DOING IT!! This is HARD, but you are CAPABLE. Look at the amazing children you are raising…WOW! Look at how STRONG you are…

Because we can most definitely, certainly do it better together.

Mama, YOU are INCREDIBLE. Look at you.

Childhood is magic. It is terrible, it is messy, it is brilliant.

Lets cheer each other on like it’s the World Cup.

****

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I’m half-heartedly retraining him to be a child.

It is completely not working.

I usually leave him with confusing instructions like, “Don’t boss your sisters and brothers around…except if they’re, you know, doing something crazy.”

And here’s the problem people: they are always doing things that are crazy. Malachi and I are almost always confused by the levels of crazy in this house. We’re just two firstborns saving lives and putting the kibosh on excessive glue stick usage. What would they do without us, I mean really?

Here is a list of other things I have accidentally taught my kids:

1. Never EVER say the word “fat”.

 I tell my kids a lot of things. I am constantly talking at them. It’s probably not a great parenting strategy. It’s like throwing handfuls of darts at a time and hoping some of them stick. All I know is that “shut the door” and “take your elbows off the table” bounced off and are lost under the basement couch, while “fat is not a nice word to say” was a bullseye.

I knew this when my five year old son said, “Mom, I was reading a book, and it said the word…”(his voice suddenly dropping to a barely audible whisper) “fat”.

He looked at me intently and shook his head, “So, don’t worry, I took that book and I threw it against the wall. I’ll never read that again.”

I’m really glad I taught them this.

This may be the only legacy I leave with my children.

2. To be TERRIFIED of puppies.

I don’t know if this is due to under-exposure, or if we introduced Sandlot too early. Somehow, fluffy, slobber-filled, bundles of joy, have become the Johnston children apocalypse.

This has been an incredible breech of good parenting.

If you have walked by our house over the last month you may have seen one (or two) little girls running and screaming in terror while our neighbor’s tiny puppy bounds after them. Meanwhile, all the adults are following close behind trying to save both the children and Molly, the terrier.

At one point when Haven’s feet gave way, she succumbed to rolling across the grass shrieking while the pup pounced after her, happily attempting to lick her to death.

So scary really.

The good news is, they will try and ride your pit bull if you will let them. (As long as it is not a puppy). We are a very educated family in that way.

3. To pee in public.

I did teach them this, I just didn’t expect the ramifications. I have a thing with public restrooms. That thing is called: they are disgusting. When I bring all four kids in there it’s like they think they are at a petting zoo.  Before I can stop them, they are stroking the toilet seat and sticking their hand in the small tampon trashcan, “Mom, what’s in here???”

It is more than my heart can handle.

So, I took to parking in discreet corners and letting them pee outside before doing my errands. This worked beautifully until we were taking a tour of a university campus, and in the middle of their immaculate green lawn, my littlest dropped her drawers in perfect confidence.

It was the longest pee of my life you guys. You just can’t stop it once it’s started. We casually smiled and nodded to passersby. “Hey students in the prime of your youth, we are here to show you your future. MUCH to look forward to. You’re welcome.”

Graham was all, “Haven, WHERE did you LEARN that???” and I was all,

“Up top!”

He was not totally impressed.

To say sorry. 

I am very good at making mistakes. As a recovering perfectionist, I have a hard time with the fact that I continually fail at being the “ideal” mother.

I apologize all the time to my kids, and I have carried some shame about that to be honest.

It’s usually something like:

“I’m sorry for talking to you like that, I have a bad attitude. I will work on it.” (Pours large cup of coffee).

I realized that my worst flaws were actually an unintended success when I overheard Scout talking to Oaklee in the other room.

“Oaklee, NO, don’t do that!! Move OVER!” .

I was about to intervene, when after a brief pause  his voice became calm and kind,  “I’m sorry Oaklee, I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. ”

Flawed parenting for the WIN.

We are all professional mistakers up in here. I am probably accidentally teaching them far more things than I am purposely teaching them.

What’s the weirdest thing you ever accidentally taught your kids?

Next time, we should talk about how my kids are convinced that underwear are only for babies.

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