During this difficult time, it’s easy to focus on all of the things that we’re not able to do. I too am saddened by missed milestones, cancelled trips and the people that I live with not leaving this house every day. But, in an effort to find the always-present silver lining, I thought I would spend some time focusing on some things that I don’t miss.

The Grind

I don’t miss the military precision that is required to move three children through the world. I do not miss racing out the door, yelling at people to put their shoes on, figuring out what kind of dinner that I can make that can be eaten by five different people at five different meal times—I miss NONE of that. I miss seeing my kids play sports and the fun it brings them, but I don’t miss having my entire weekend scheduled around game times. I don’t miss the running list of items that I need for all of the upcoming school, sporting and life events. I don’t miss being a slave to the clock, having to make sure everyone has eaten by a certain time so they can be in bed or get to school—honestly, I’m not even sure if my oldest children have been eating breakfast, but they seem to be OK, so I’m going to roll with it.

The Need to Do “What’s Next”

I also do not miss the need to start planning whatever is “next.” I don’t miss thinking about who’s birthday is coming and what we’ll do or trying to figure out what our summer plans when we haven’t even made it to spring break. Let’s face it, the pressure is off and I, for one, am going to enjoy this respite. It’s also pretty enlightening to see that my kids apparently don’t care about any of those things. Sure, they miss their friends and they like to go on summer vacation as much as the next kid, but they haven’t once asked “what’s next?” or what our plans are for the near future. Maybe removing the expectations is a great lesson for all of us?

The Entire Month of May

Every mother knows the horror that is May. I will not miss one single second of May. I will not miss finding a ridiculous costume that my child will wear for ten minutes. I will not miss the 468 end of year projects that get assigned and require poster board, hot glue and some mystery ingredient that can never be found on Amazon. I will not miss the random item that needs to be sent into school EVERY week during May. I won’t miss the talent show and the end of the year picnic. I will not miss sending in one flower for the teacher appreciation bouquet—can we all agree to STOP doing this? Whomever is buying one flower may as well just by the entire bouquet for the class, since last I checked no one is bringing these blooms in from their home gardens—but, I digress. Please don’t misunderstand, I don’t want to skip the teacher appreciation. I think that anyone that has had to listen to more than five minutes of an elementary school Zoom class knows that these people are doing God’s work. If there was ever a year to really lay it on thick in your teacher appreciation card or amp up your gift giving (virtually) you’re looking at it! May is usually the stuff of mothers’ nightmares, but maybe this year we will actually enjoy it, perhaps we will even have the time to take a breath and celebrate Mother’s Day instead of squeezing it in to the chaos?

There are lots of things that I miss, but I have to admit thinking about what I’m getting to skip gives me a perverse amount of satisfaction. Soon enough the grind will start back up and we’ll all start planning what’s next for our families. But maybe we’ll do it with a little more thoughtfulness and remember that there are some really nice things about having nothing to do. And perhaps we can get something passed to permanently remove May from the calendar?

How many emotions can you experience in one day? Asking for a friend. A friend who is now feeling about as up and down as the hormonal adolescents she’s currently quarantined with on a 24-hour basis. It may not help that my friend is in her forties, has no interest in teaching, enjoys alone time and personal space.

My friend usually starts the day with a positive attitude and good outlook, she is trying to maintain a sense of calm for herself so she can show up for her people. She goes through several steps in the morning to cultivate this positive feeling. Sometimes this feeling lasts for an entire hour, but more often than not, it is torpedoed within the first five minutes of dealing with her housemates. You see, my friend had a system, it was working fairly well with only minimal amounts of rage. But that system involved only parenting and light housekeeping—oh and being an adult with a job and a life. Now my friend has to integrate many new duties into the system. The system is on overload. Let’s be honest, the system crashes several times a day.

The system re-boots, it pulls itself back together and starts processing again. Sometimes the re-boot is a deep breath, sometimes it’s hiding in the bathroom or garage, sometimes it is a very extended dog walk, sometimes it involves a drink or a baked good. Don’t judge my friend, her system is being asked to work outside of its parameters right now and it’s doing the best that it can.

The overload of the system is most likely what’s leading to the roller coaster of emotions. My friend usually starts with hope and idealism, that quickly deteriorates into anger and resentment, which can sometimes spiral into shame and hopelessness. This cycle usually runs a full course by 9:30 a.m. and then repeats throughout the day. Some days there are other fun emotions like frustration, emotional isolation and sadness. There is a lot of gratitude, humor and lightheartedness too. But my friend is having a hard time keeping up with all of the emotions, how quickly they come and go, and the uncertainty of never knowing when the next one may strike.

My friend isn’t a big fan of roller coasters in general, emotional or otherwise. She likes to feel a sense of calm and control. She enjoys lists and order and alone time –did I mention that already? She prides herself on her level head and her ability to deal fairly well with the ups and downs of life. She routinely balances family, work and the chaos of multiple children, but it turns out that none of that has prepared her for this little ride. And the fun is just beginning, she’s going to be on this attraction for a while. Much to my friend’s chagrin, she’s going to have to figure out how to enjoy this ride.

She is going to have to hold on tight. She may have to white knuckle it through some of the dips and drops. It’s possible she will feel like she’s going to lose it when the twists and turns keep coming. But my friend is a tough cookie, she’s not going to let a temporary roller coaster get her down. She’ll be OK, she may even come out of this with a new appreciation for roller coasters. Until then, she’s going to hide in the bathroom as needed and become a marathon dog walker and have a cocktail at 3:30 if she feels like it and eat cake for breakfast if necessary and take a lot of deep breaths.

It’s such a great expression—sometimes with the terrible connotation of firing everyone and starting anew. I find myself understanding this platitude like never before. Because strangely after literally cleaning my house this week,  I’d like to figuratively clean it of all of the people living here. Let me start from the beginning.

I am lucky enough to have a wonderful woman that comes to clean my house each week. She is an angel straight from heaven and every week I am grateful to see her and even more grateful when she leaves me with a clean house. I realize this is a great luxury. I did not grow up with someone cleaning our house.  In fact, at the ripe old age of twelve, while my mother worked full time it was my weekly chore to clean the house from top to bottom. Like really clean it—bathrooms, floors, baseboards, you name it. Upon completion of this “chore” I was rewarded with my weekly allowance. The amount—even by the standards of a thousand years ago when I was twelve was NOTHING—but I give my mother full credit, she was a genius, she did have a housekeeper—me.

Fast forward to our current situation and my sweet housekeeper is at her house while we practice social distancing. I find myself returned to my pre-teen role of housekeeper. After two weeks of this job I cannot believe that this sweet woman returns here week after week. Although I believe she and I have a wonderful relationship, the other people that live here—are filthy people. I am generally concerned for their health and well-being as they move on into the world. Each week as I clean this house, we are fortunate enough to live in I find myself filled with feelings of rage and anger. I am, as the kids say, salty—before, during and after the entire process. I apparently don’t hide my feelings well because most of my housemates steer clear of me or scamper when I approach during cleaning day.

I’m trying to figure out why this task brings out such extreme feelings. Maybe it’s because I can’t imagine that people that share my genetic material think it’s acceptable to live like this? Perhaps I feel like a failure as a mother because I think that some of my children are severely lacking in the area of basic human hygiene?

It’s a telling process. I have one child who apparently believes he’s already living at a fraternity house and “cleaning up” your room involves shoving piles into areas that are not readily visible. Another of my offspring is relatively neat, but confused about the difference between a bed sheet and a comforter—where have I gone wrong? I also have what I am going to diagnose as a stage one hoarder. This child has all kinds of things “saved” in her room. Things that are “important” like fifteen empty toilet paper rolls—Jesus take the wheel! I mean she may be on to something and it’s possible after another few weeks of home schooling that I will regret throwing those TP rolls away since I’ll probably need them for a STEAM project.

What I have discovered about myself is that I like my family much better when I don’t have to clean up after them. Let’s be honest I clean up after them all week long, even with the gift of a housekeeper. I already knew that they don’t know how to put anything away, they have a hard time “remembering” which items belong to them and where they go—it’s confusing. I also already knew that their definition of clean and my definition of clean are not even remotely the same.

But the deep clean brought us to new levels of understanding. Week one brought us all together by me spending quality time with each child in their perspective rooms explaining why they are disgusting animals and I am right. I think it brought some real bonding moments. Week two was slightly better because we had removed the initial layer of filth. Unfortunately, it also brought great frustration as none of the lessons I so graciously imparted on week one seem to have been absorbed in any way. I don’t understand why cups of water are entering my son’s room when we have a no food or drink policy, but I am especially baffled as to why said cups NEVER seem to return once they do enter illegally. It’s like a weird cup purgatory.

There are so many things I do not understand. I don’t understand why my children apparently want to live like this—don’t they want better for themselves?? I don’t understand why they are surprised by my anger when I’ve explained my expectations at least TEN THOUSAND times. And my expectations  are LOW—like if the health department came here, they wouldn’t kick us out of our own home low. I just don’t understand. But I am determined to use this opportunity to help my children form better habits. To understand the importance of clean sheets and removing dust and debris from your living space and how scrubbing a toilet can actually be a great stress reliever. I can tell by the eye rolls and the scowls that they are excited for this new phase of learning. We’re all pretty excited to see what week three brings—my guess is more cups!!

Hello my friends! I really wanted to get this whole page re-vamped and ready before launching new content, but alas, we are quite literally in drastic times. So, in solidarity with all of the other mothers who have been unwillingly cast into the role of teacher, 24-hour referee, entertainment director and full-time breakfast, lunch and dinner lady—I’m going to wing it and just move forward!

I really wanted to change up some of the elements on the posts, get the inbox option fully working, etc., but I also wanted my children and my husband to leave my home every day for at least six hours, so this is an exercise in working with what we’ve got.

And what have we got? It seems we have a lot of uncertainty, quite a few people in harm’s way and another handful of people that think we’ve developed a European PTO policy and have just all decided to take a few extra weeks off. No matter what your family’s situation, the truth of it is that it’s going to be hard. It’s hard for people no matter how big or small to break from their routines. Uncertainty causes stress for almost everyone I know. So, no matter what you’re feeling, you’re probably right.

What can we do? Well, we can try to do whatever we can to make ourselves and our people feel better. If that includes eating raw cookie dough or starting each school day with a mimosa, then so be it! I’m going to try and consume as much positive media as possible, watch the funniest stuff I can get my hands on and become a curator of the best quarantine memes I can possibly find—because I like to laugh.

I will also most certainly be utilizing airport rules and drinking based on my mood, not the time of day. I will attempt to find new and interesting ways to spend time with my family, even though 90% of the time that leads to someone crying (see previous reference to lifted drinking restrictions). I will continue to reach out in solidarity to my fellow mamas who are all in this with me and continuously remind me that if I’ve done nothing else right in life, I’ve amassed a group of  amazing friends.

So, take heart mamas—the good news is no one has ever done this before, at least not in our lifetime—so NO ONE can tell us we’re doing it wrong. Whether it brings you joy to clean out your bathroom drawers or binge watch all of Outlander—congratulations, you’re doing it right! Reach out (virtually) to friends as much as you can, try to find joy in the little things—like not having to dry your hair if you don’t feel like it and for the love of all that is holy, don’t attempt to follow your normal house rules. Nothing about this is normal, so if your kids stay up late, eat too many snacks or become professional gamers by the time this over—it’s OK.

Repeat after me—“It’s OK!!” This is not for the rest of our lives, it’s a brief stop on our journey– like when you had a bad perm or overindulged in the white eyeliner trend. We don’t live here, we’re just visiting. So, let’s make the most of our stay—let’s give ourselves permission to do as much or as little as makes sense that day and then promptly move on to the next. And most importantly, let’s be kind to one another but especially kind to OURSELVES. In case no one told you, you’re the best quarantine mom your kids have ever had! Hang tough ladies, all of us may not thrive, but we will all survive!

xoxo!

Hello my friends! After a much longer than anticipated break, I am back! I’m back to offer some (maybe) helpful insight and (hopefully) witty prose as we all navigate through the middle of motherhood. So, why the break?

Such a good question. There are so many answers but I’ll break it down to the simplest. I didn’t prioritize it. As uncomfortable as it makes me to write that, it’s even more uncomfortable to admit it. You see, I LOVE this writing–it has given me so much joy and freedom and redemption and validation. I love this writing for myself, even if no one ever reads it. So, what’s my problem?

Well, it’s possible that I may have let the angry little perfectionist that sometimes lives inside my head get the best of me. I started out wanting to make sure that the site was working correctly–it had a few issues that were bothering me. So, in an effort to get that fixed–and let’s be clear that means find someone who is not me that is qualified to fix it, I figured I’d hold off on posting new stuff. Guess what? It’s still not fixed and I’m posting this ANYWAY!

The good news is I did find someone and it should be fixed soon, the bad news is that I let the idea that it had to be perfect stop me from doing what I love. Why did I do that? Seems dumb. But, I’m guessing a lot of you know just how it goes. You’re on a roll with your exercise routine or your healthy eating or your meditation practice or your daily study of French. Then, BAM! life happens, a kid gets sick, a site goes down, you eat a bag of Cheetos. It’s OK, this is a safe space and as I’ve just clearly laid out, I’m certainly in no position to judge.

So instead, my friends I will stand as either a horrible warning or a shining example that sometimes you just have to say to heck with it and start again. I think it may be the answer to all things. Want to be a good mom but you spent half the day yelling at your children? Start again tomorrow. Wish you could actually finish reading a book for your book club? Try again next month. Want to be more present for your friends? Call one of them now and tell them you were thinking of them.

You see, I–probably just like you–have learned this lesson so many times. I get stuck in whatever rut and the minute I begin to make my way out of it, I think “that wasn’t that bad” or “I should’ve just done that weeks ago.” But, I’m not going to beat myself up about. I’m going to learn my lesson, try to remember it and resume. I feel better already. I bet if you picked up wherever you’ve left off, you would too. Start again, mamas! XO

It occurred to me as I was freaking out over my middle school child’s school schedule that one of the most humbling parts about being a parent is that you never know what you’re doing. You’re just as inept as those fumbling idiots who brought home a newborn baby however many years ago—always. You’re forever a new parent.

Which really means you’re forever overthinking, over analyzing and generally driving yourself insane. Now, you do get the gift of perspective, but only AFTER the overthinking, over analyzing and freaking out. Once you have a four-year-old you get that eventually every kid will sleep through the night and use the bathroom, but that doesn’t help you in the midst of sleep or potty training. After your child has been in school a few years you no longer worry about them making friends, learning multiplication or how to spell words—all of this stuff happens with very little effort from you. That does not stop you from crying on the first day of Kindergarten and fearing that your little cherub will be friendless and illiterate—because you only get to look back and laugh at your hysterical self AFTER you’ve lived through it.

I mean sometimes you get a little more relaxed with each passing child, but if your kids are anything like mine, that doesn’t really work either because NOTHING you did for one works for any of the others. So, maybe you have faith that they’ll sleep, use the bathroom, read and socialize, but the way each of them chooses to do it is totally different. Thus, causing you to still irrationally freak out even when you KNOW you shouldn’t. You might as well be doing this for the first time like some kind of fresh-out-of-the-hospital newbie.

Then you get to adolescence. This is where you get to gloat (because you don’t have a baby) and give sage advice to the parents of small people—“bless her heart, she makes all of her baby food from scratch,” “God love them, they have a three-month old learning to read.” Laugh it up and know that the circle of life is real. Just as you’re taking pity on these sweet young parents your friends who have survived teenagers are pouring a drink and getting ready to sit back and enjoy the show. Your show, the one where you again have no idea what you’re doing. You have no idea how to regulate/monitor/use social media, set curfews or punish people that are taller than you. You are once again, a newbie.

You would think that after years of this cycle that we would all be able to control it. Perhaps we would begin to freak out but then remember: “Wait! I’ve seen this movie before! This happens every time I start parenting a new phase of childhood.” Nope. That doesn’t happen. It’s like the same chemical that erases all of your memories of pregnancy and childbirth is released in your body. You have no recollection that you have ever parented a child successfully thus far. It’s like you just showed up and someone handed you a brand-new kid.

So, after my irrational freak-out the other day I realized that this must be what’s happening. I am firmly entrenched in new parent land again—the place where I have no idea what I’m doing, where I think there are surely ways to do this correctly/better/competently, but I don’t know what any of them are! The fabulous spot where I am convinced that each small decision could impact my child’s life so profoundly that I’m paralyzed with fear. Let’s be clear, that realization didn’t stop me from freaking out or thinking all of these things. I was just able to identify what was happening, so there’s that.

I’m quite sure I have a good 15 years of new parenting left. In that period, I will worry for no reason, over analyze, spend countless hours seeking the help of wiser women that went before me, drinking wine and praying. This is the only way I know how to do it. These are my coping skills. Be nice to me, I’m new here.

Well, sort of…the fact that I’m writing this post in mid-June is a testament to the trauma of May, and what I have decided is May’s dirtiest trick of all—it’s followed by June.

You see we had a system. We knew what we were doing. We knew who had practice on what night, what days we had to feed people earlier, when laundry needed to cycle so that people didn’t run out of uniforms and now it’s over. Everything is up in the air, there’s no system, there’s no schedule. It’s chaos.

OK, it’s not that bad. I actually love summer but what I forgot, or perhaps what I’ve chosen to block out, is that I do not love the transition into summer. The week or two that it takes you and your family to switch gears from the rhythm of the school year. That short period where you have no idea what’s happening tomorrow, you’re not sure how many meals anyone has eaten—but they seem to be eating something ALL day and small people are home, like all the time.

They do not go to their institute of learning for a blissful six hours a day. They are in your home staring at you. They are asking about food, activities, games, seeing their friends. They expect you to have all of the answers to their questions. They have a lot of questions and needs and wants and it’s overwhelming and exhausting. They are loud. They are messy. Your home has never been messier—it looks like the aftermath of a frat party at all times. Which is strange because you continuously walk around picking things up and putting them away. You do this for at least four hours a day and yet there are still cups everywhere, random articles of clothing are strewn all over the place and remnant pieces of whatever they were playing with last are all over every table in your house.

We knew this was coming. We actually wished for it to be here because anything is really better than May. So why does it take us by surprise? Why do we feel like we have never done this before? I say it’s the transition. We live in the school routine for many more months than we live in summer. It’s only logical that it takes us a hot minute to get re-acquainted. To remember that we do not feed people on demand, we do not allow you to play video games until your eyes bleed, we make everybody stop at least every few hours and go through the house to pick up all of their junk—I mean, belongings. We DO have a summer routine we just forgot about it.

A friend of mine told me she warned her husband at the end of the school year that the next two weeks would be rough for everyone. She’s a genius. She remembered the transition–the part where you’re so happy that it’s summer but you also don’t know how you will ever get anything accomplished again. She called it by its name, looked it right in the face and just plowed through it. She removed any expectations of herself or her kids because she knew it would take everyone a minute to find their groove.

So, I’m taking her lead on this segue into summer. I am not going to worry if my kids have eaten a box of granola bars as lunch and have taken to wearing pajamas at all hours of the day. I will not beat myself up if I’ve been trying to get the same hour of work done for the past two days. I will not have anyone over to my house that would care what it might look like (I actually try to live by that rule all year). I will allow myself and my people this transition. I will be thankful that I’m off the schedule and create a new one that suits me. I’ll be grateful that we get to experience a different reality for a few months that involves liberal bedtimes, optional bathing and no school projects. Maybe this segue is put here to remind me of the importance of being flexible, to roll with the punches and to be thankful that we all survived May once again.

Mother’s Day is a great day. It can also be a day filled with disaster and disappointment, because—life. But you have to know that if you’re a mom there is no doubt that your people love you. I promise that they appreciate you. I assure you that you mean the world to them even if they can’t always express it. So, in case someone forgot to tell you…

Thank you for changing all of my smelly diapers.

Thanks for letting me puke on you.

Thanks for getting up every 10 seconds to feed me.

Thanks for always putting my needs before yours.

Thanks for losing sleep wondering if you’re doing a good job.

Thanks for crying when my heart was hurt.

Thanks for wanting to punch someone when they hurt me.

Thanks for keeping all of that to yourself and being strong for me.

Thanks for showing me how to treat people.

Thanks for reminding me when I didn’t treat people the way you taught me.

Thanks for being relentless when it comes to making me the best version of myself.

Thanks for knowing that sometimes spending the whole day in my pajamas is exactly what I need.

Thanks for letting me do things that terrify you.

Thanks for allowing me to make mistakes and learn from them on my own.

Thanks for realizing that I’m growing up.

Thanks for still treating me like your baby even though I’m big.

Thanks for making me check in.

Thanks for not freaking out when I don’t.

Thanks for not going to sleep until you know I’m home safely.

Thanks for telling me how much you love me every day.

Thanks for making me feel important.

Thanks for doing all of this so I can leave you and go out into the world and be amazing.

If your card was lack-luster or non-existent, this if for you. If your day was a little less of an extravaganza than you had hoped, know that this is what they really meant. They meant to tell you very eloquently how much they love you and appreciate you. They meant to make you feel like you are irreplaceable to them—you really are. This is what they meant, in case they forgot to tell you. Happy Mother’s Day!

As we approach Mother’s Day weekend, I wanted to extend my special and heartfelt thanks to all of the other mothers. I know we all love and honor our mothers this weekend. They were undoubtedly our first and best example of how to be a mother. However, we would not survive this gig without the our mothers-in-arms.

There’s so many of them and I’ve talked about them before, but it’s worth mentioning again. First, there’s the mothers that knew you back when you were doing keg stands in college and now you’re all mothers together—how did that happen? These girls are your home, your heart and a sounding board that has absolutely no problem telling you when they think you’re doing it wrong. They are also the first to line up to tell you just how much you’re doing right and that you are all the mom your kids could need even though you have no idea what you’re doing. They provide you solace because you started down this road together–clueless, but their kids seem to be pretty great, so surely that translates.

Then there are the moms with older kids. The blessed women who have blazed this trail before you and are here to tell you “it’s not a big deal.” They are the voice of reason, the light at the end of your tunnel and your assurance that there’s a better than average chance that you might make it. These ladies are the first to tell you it will all be alright, to assure you that you’re a good mom and to laugh when you tell them your fears about the third grade. They are your examples and your warnings. You love them for it.

Lastly, there are your younger friends. You get to share your wisdom (maybe experience is a better word) with them. They’re here to remind you that you’ve accomplished something. You’ve lived through a stage of childhood and came out on the other side. They make you feel competent that you successfully parented a human for a few years longer than someone else. You need any sense of accomplishment you can get in this motherhood game. They afford you this luxury and give you the opportunity to pay it forward like your friend with older kids did for you. Circle of life!

You see, I wanted to acknowledge all of the amazing moms I’m surrounded with each day. These are the women I am fortunate enough to call my friends. I am profoundly grateful for what they bring to my life. I’m certain that one of the greatest gifts of motherhood is the friends you make along the way. The women that are in the trenches with you—doing 439 loads of laundry a week, packing a million lunches and making more stops than an Uber driver. The girls that know when you need to vent for twenty minutes. The friends that will tell you, “stop worrying, your kids are fine.” The sisters that will stick by your side when things get rough and bring tissues, dinner or wine as necessary.

So, let’s celebrate. Tell all of your friends that help you make it through the tough days and celebrate you on the good days how amazing they are. Tell them what they mean to you. Sure, it takes a village, but we’re more than a village—we’re a sophisticated, modern, industrialized city and we’re here to raise each other up. We’re here to love each other and support each other. We are the surprise gift that no one told us about—Happy Mother’s Day!

I’m usually not sappy about stuff like this. I have three children without a complete baby book between them. All of my pictures are either thrown in a box or live somewhere on my computer; if you ask me to find a specific one, I’m going to need a few days. I don’t keep locks of hair, baby teeth or the outfits they wore home from the hospital. I love that other moms do, it’s just not who I am. So, I’m not really sure how this happened or why it just hit me this week. I haven’t had a “baby” in my house for about six years. This is not news. But, for whatever reason, it’s hit me that my kids are growing up, really quickly.

Logically, I know this is happening. I’ve lived through all of the phases. The misery of not sleeping with a new baby, the early morning wake-ups (no matter what your night before looked like) with toddlers. The cuteness of pre-school and early elementary. I was there. I did a lot of heavy lifting. I was paying attention. But, now, it’s like it was all a blur. I remember lots of incredibly special moments–it’s not like that–it’s just not who I am anymore. It struck me when I was at Target (where all goodness begins) and watched a mom do the whole car seat, stroller, baby dance. All of sudden it hit me—that’s not me anymore and it won’t be again. I’m not the mom of little kids. What’s happening?

I get it. I’ve seen my friends’ kids grow up and I know how fast it goes. But, there’s a difference between it going by quickly and realizing the finality of never going back. Babies, toddlers, even little kiddos are over in my house. My youngest child has a birthday next week. She’ll be eight. That’s not little. I now have kids that are old enough that I can look at the baby section and think, “aww!” instead of “ugh!”

The hardest part is that I think it messed with my identity a bit. I realized that I’m not in that  club—the one with the cute young mothers of babies. I’m not an adorable new mom with her car full of paraphernalia that she doesn’t really need, but she doesn’t know that yet. I’m the seasoned mom who brought her last baby everywhere with a couple of wipes, one diaper and determination. By that last child I was a pro. I didn’t need any baby gadgets, I knew what I was doing. I didn’t want any more baby gadgets—I was over it. And now it’s over.

Now, I’m the mom of bigger kids. I’ve got a legitimate teenager, with another fast approaching. In a matter of minutes, two-thirds of my children will officially be taller than me (it’s not that hard, but still!) Rather than finding things to keep them busy, I’m begging them to come out of their rooms. It’s a whole new world. And even though I’ve been here the whole time, it’s like it just happened upon me. It’s like that feeling when you drive somewhere so frequently you sometimes forget how you got there. How did I get here? I remember taking a lot of turns and twist. I have all of the wrinkles and stretch marks to mark my course, but it feels like I just turned up here with a bunch of big kids.

I’m not sure there’s any other way to do it. I get “the days are long but the years are short,” that wisdom has never been lost on me. I try to be “present.” I soak all of the moments in. I make a big deal of birthdays and accomplishments. I cry at stupid school musicals and award ceremonies if the mood strikes—I’m paying attention! I just think that this gig moves at such a lightning speed, there’s no way to truly soak it all in. It’s like trying to take a picture of your child doing (insert any milestone)—it happens when you’re not looking and if you focus too much on taking the picture, you miss the whole thing. I’m going to keep telling myself that that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve been on the journey instead of documenting it. I’ve been giggling, snuggling and let’s be honest, sometimes yelling at my little people to help them form into these big kids. Now they’re here and I’ll have to figure out how we get to the next part.

I probably still won’t take enough pictures or remember all of the funny things they said. I’ll probably always feel like it’s slipping away a little. I’ll have to re-invent myself over and over again as a mom of teens and then adults and figure out who she is.  I’ll have to just try to focus on being grateful for whatever kid I have that day–even on the smelly days. I’ll try to pay attention and know that the next phase is banging on our door. And I’ll help that sweet young mom with her car seat/stroller/diaper bag situation because I really don’t miss that part.