"Happy Mama's Day"

Updated: May 10

Have you ever found yourself staring down the barrel of an imploding two-year-old, while standing in the check out line of a malfunctioning cash register, with a cart full of groceries, at the prime-grocery-shopping-hour, of Thanksgiving week? I mean not if, but really when, right? I know I'm not alone.

Fight or flight? Neither seem like a viable option.

THIS MOMENT is where genetic history plus chemical DNA-makeup, have a scientific reaction just shy of an emerging of the Incredible Hulk, where all logical parenting truths come to pass away.

You know what I'm talking about.

FOR SURE you've seen or read the blog post judging the mom who is on her cell phone, while her kids run rampant at the park, terrorizing puppies, yelling obscenities.

Did any of us ever think to consider that maybe that mom had just left target, where her child loudly announced to her AND the strangers in line behind them that, "for Christmas I'm going to ask Santa for you and daddy to get along." I might be speaking from personal experience, here. What is left to say at that point? "Hey stranger! I promise I'm a good person, and me and my husband really love each other, and we also don't fight as much as it might seem right now."

I mean I too used to judge moms of mini-dictators, for allowing their children to act like Kim Jong Un. Now, I'm over here accepting that I'm now that mom, probably hall-of-fame quality, honestly. Lack of sleep does eventually catch up with you.

On any given day I do check my email or Facebook, while my kids are awake and congregating, in an effort to keep my head from falling off my shoulders after I've been asked for the millionth time before noon, for a piece of candy.

I finally get it. Adapt or die.

Pregame, post-office-run, gritted-teeth, PEP-talk: "Here, if you will just eat this {"friggin"} package of skittles inside the post office, while mommy mails this package off, I will let you have a red popsicle when we get back home, OK? Fine, yes, you can have TWO popsicles. Ugh, YES, pink and green ones. DEAL? Deal."

Anyone else find it ironic that negotiations are being made with little peoples who still poop in their pants?

I'm just a mom, standing in front of a screaming child, asking her Apple Watch to stop telling her to "Breathe", "It's time to stand", or "It's not too late!"

Moms. We are danged if we do and danged if we don't.

I used to get really upset when my child marked on anything but paper. Now the third kid in, I'm thrilled if she's quietly scribbling the entire Daniel Tiger's neighborhood song on the

guest-bathroom, wall. To my inner-self: "It's fine. We can just paint that when we sell. She's so cute when she's vandalizing though, don't ya think?"

Mom-to-mom, we're all walking uphill both ways to eighteen-year-olds. Let's be gentle. Feel free to please just give this old-gal a pat on the back. I don't think any of us are thinking that we have this mothering thing figured out, but mostly just like we are all doing our very best, and that's all that really counts.

Us mamas gotta stick together.

I see you mama. A distributor of world peace, one grocery-run, Target-hall, Post Office stop at a time.

Mothering. It really is all about lopsided, forgiveness and not-of-this-world, perspective. AND also about leaving the house as little as possible.

What I really want to say to you is, Happy Mother's Day, Mama.

Let's tell our inner Becky's to "Breathe", "Time to stand", "It's not too late"; they can't all be teacher's pets and where is the fun in that anyway? Keep up the worthy work. Apple Watches and strangers don't get to narrate our story. Our kids are counting on us to give quality wedding-toasts someday.

I think I hear them calling my name, "Mama. Mama. Mama."

I'll miss this someday.

Photo Credits: @doubleknotweddings




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