Some days I can’t do the mom thing very well. Or really, at all. I just can’t. I secretly wanted to drop kick my two-year old last week. For real. She is the world’s biggest peach when she’s overtired. And by peach, I mean egg. Rotten egg.
It’s been that kind of month around here. I blame it on the weather. And karma. Plus, maybe some genetics. They seemingly know how to gang up on a person [me] and then spend their days laughing at you. Loudly. It’s that ridiculous roar you hear when you’re getting ready to walk out the door, you’re already running late and your lovely little lady has suddenly decided to dump her sippy cup onto the floor. And inform you that she pooped. Just because she can. Or when it’s Mother’s Day and all you really want to do is sleep in a bit but instead you get woken up at 5:45. And instead of spending the beautiful afternoon curled up with a book on the front porch with a sparkling drink in hand, you’re stuck inside a hot smelly gymnasium watching basketball. Beastly ball, at that, because your son and his team are pretty much over the season and their minds are far from courtside. THESE. ARE. THE. DAYS. Parenting is hard. It’s really freaking hard. And if I’m being honest…motherhood is what’s hard. 
Because if your household is anything like ours, mom is the one in charge of steering the crazy bus down the rocky road. And sometimes most times, it’s uncomfortable and tiresome.
Children are a gift but the strings that come attached are anything but simple. Albeit simple or strenuous, I believe God knew that only mothers could deliver on such a demanding duty. We are the ones cut out for that constant call for consideration. We are the ones who supply a sacrificial heart. We are the ones who bear the brutal burdens. And we are the ones who execute the jaded juggle of just about everything. I love being a mom. I really, really do. I know without a doubt I was born for this role. It’s the one thing in my life that I feel like I do well…really well. But every now and then I find myself completely overwhelmed with every effort and expectation. This month is seemingly one of those times where I find myself blowing bubbles because I can’t quite keep my head above water. My plate is FULL. Like, if you’re one of those people that can’t have their food touching each other then don’t look over here. Because mine is most certainly touching. It’s overlapping, piled on top, mashed together…it is simply a smorgasbord of STUFF! And since I grew up in the clean plate club it’s crucial that I clear it all before I consider stepping away. Ya’ll feel me??! If you’ve ever bit off more than you can chew, raise your hand. Yep. Thought so.
My little girl may not look a lot like me but she is most definitely just like me. She knows how to give an order, command your attention and she’ll let you know if she’s not happy. But she’s also incredibly kind, thoughtful and sweetly sensitive. My son is my major mini-me but his personality is much more like my husband’s. He is super pokey and you cannot get him to move if his life depended on it. He’s forgetful to the point of frustration. And he leaves a mess wherever he goes. But he’s remarkably responsible, genuinely charming and passionate beyond belief. Some days it’s all I can do to keep myself from falling off the edge of sanity but at the end of it all, I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t have their silly little souls to stress about. So even though I’m tired as hell, always cheering on the sidelines, packing in my part time work and suffocating under what can only be described as sinful stacks of laundry each week…my maniacal mothering years are limited. And then I’ll be left with a stillness that likely won’t be satisfying. So when these moments (and these months) get the best of me, I’ll try to pause and find some peace amidst the pandemonium. And reassure myself that come what may, I’ve been blessed with another day.
Weakness for Words 