Happy Mother's Day Weekend!
This isn't my first Mother's Day where I get to be the one pampered and celebrated. Is it my third or fourth? Are you guys counting the time you were pregnant? I don't think we did. Anyway, each year it still feels like a little surprise that it gets to be my day too! Not a huge surprise like I won something, but a tiny little surprise, like. oh yeah, huh. Like when you wet yourself after a sneeze. I always have to preface my statements lately with, "I mean, I LOVE my girls, love them, BUT..." My goodness they are driving me NUTTSO lately! For a type-A control freak, mothering is HARD. Hard to let go, be casual, relaxed, easy going...these aren't characteristics I would say are, Glo, and I am not sure if they ever will be. I try. Am I trying though? Or is it just me breaking down and giving up?! Haha! I am STILL running around cleaning up messes, taping torn book pages, gluing broken hair clips, soaking watermelon stained clothing, but at what point do I say, "F" it and let things be broken, lost, stained, jumbled, mangled, messy? Am I causing my own headaches? This is husband's line, "You create your own headaches."
Anyway, mama hood. It's messy. Its crazy. It's fun. And also not so fun, and exhausting. After three years I, just THREE, one hand guys, I am T.I.R.E.D. My "mom guilt" doesn't stem from whether or not I am spending enough time with them, if anything it is TOO MUCH time, but I am guilted by how Jekyll & Hyde I am towards them! Is this normal?! I lose my patience and yell at them and sound like a child myself, right there throwing tantrums, and then cuddling them and smothering them with kisses until they lose their breath from giggling the next moment. The weather has been springy, the windows are cracked, and the neighbors must be thinking, "oh... yeah...she's the stay-at-home mom," as they water their grass or play catch with their dogs in their yards next door.
My issues come when I go through my day before bed I get embarrassed by so many "psycho" moments I had...So embarrassed I actually smack my forehead and squint my eyes in a, what-the-hell-was-I-thinking, sort of way. Ever done that? How confusing I must be to them. One minute mom is screaming at me to stop getting into her bag and yelling about how she has no personal belongings or space anymore, then the next she's snuggled up next to me in my bed for a late afternoon, sweaty haired, nap. Who is this lady? Then Arlo reminds me, as I'm holding her while Remy and I are arguing like teenage sisters over a lost lipstick and the 19 month old chub in my arms looks at me dead in the face and says, "Mom." Just a very calm, cool, perky sweet little voice, "Mom."
This happened yesterday afternoon. The nap happened yesterday afternoon. These photos happened the other day at a park. A day when I THOUGHT I would make a phone call to a friend because phone calls don't happen, EVER. I am on call, I am working, I have to pay attention, 100% of the time or else. You can't make or take personal calls when you're working. But I made the call. It felt good to talk, I fear I TALKED more than listened this time, and while we chatted my girls ran in the grass, then dangerously too far, and I screamed over the phone speaker for them to come back, and we chatted more, and they interrupted and begged me to answer a question of when they got sick last, and then I chatted more and was making my way to the car when I turned and found them huddled down by a cement drain coming out of the grassy hill where runoff water trickled out into a pile of mud. I shrieked, also whiles till on THE CALL, "GET. IN. THE. CAR!!!!" It looked far worse than it actually was when I first saw the dark, shiny soil, I initially thought it was a sort of sewer waste they were happily splashing in. Surprisingly, these girls had not a speck of dirt on their clothes, just a little under the nails. Is this like a HUGE analogy? Happily getting their fingers muddy, the MESS stopped at the phalanges. Messes. Messes.
Motherhood is messy. I could be messier. I SHOULD let them be messier. I am hoping to let things get and be messier. Messy means fun and freedom and exploration. Learning the balance of how much freedom to give and when I am reigning it in too tightly. I have a feeling that Mother's Day #25 is going to be riddled with a whole lot more messes than just a little mud. These are the BEST years! These are the years filled with dirt and sand from a good day at play. We can shake it off, soak it up, wash it out, and begin fresh again tomorrow.
Happy Mother's Day to all of you! Happy Mother's Day to my momma who has cleaned up many of my messes and patiently listens to all of this mother-talk from her daughter who probably sounds like being a mother is a whole new thing and has never happened to anyone else but her on this planet, because she knows, without telling me, that becoming a mother is special and new, sacred, special and all a bit of a mystery to all of us as we fumble through each passing year. Even to her. Even to you. You never stop being a mother, you never stop learning from yourself on how to mother better, and you never stop trying to keep things glued together, like that little barrette downstairs I have to get to. (Sorry, that little crown clip is too adorable to toss.)