The Day After Mother’s Day…

The day after Mother’s Day…all celebrating done.

The children all messy.

My hair in “the bun”!

The day after Mother’s Day…it is really true.

The children, once again, forget all about you (me too!).

The day after Mother’s Day…my coffee is old.

No one made me breakfast.

Everyone has a cold!

The day after Mother’s Day…it is really true.

Mother’s Day High…Like the sugar-rush flu!

The littles are crying – the teen is a mess.

PE clothes forgotten, the kitchen (don’t ask!).

The day after Mother’s Day…it comes all too soon.

Will our flowers last…Will they still bloom?

We need the reminders.

Oh, yes, it’s true…

That we do more than wipe bottoms.

And wash hands after poo.

The day after Mother’s Day…

It is not as divine.

Because they didn’t make breakfast or write me a rhyme.

They forgot about yesterday and my crown of glue and gold.

Sparkles and glitter.

Like I said—(big EMPHASIS) my coffee has gone cold!

But the day after Mother’s Day, they are still all mine.

And even though the windows are dirty (just like their behinds), I will remember to choose to smile because I know that it’s true…

Next year they will celebrate me, their mother, too!

(Right???)

Only 364 more days to prepare me a treat.

Hop to it, you children…

While I put up my feet!

-Insert: Crash; Bang; Boom-

***

Happy Day After Mother’s Day!

(smile and wink)

 

 

 

Truth with Toddlers

As most of you know, I have 3 children.  Three miraculous children.  Amazing, really.

One is 9.  Her name is Adelyne.  She’s awesome.

The next is Maxwell.  He’s 3.  He’s awesome.

The last is Josephine.  She literally just turned 2.  She’s awesome.

And my home is messy.  And naked (meaning most of us most days—no, we are not a nudist colony on purpose).  And, more often than not, my children watch too much television and eat way too much toast (that’s a step up from plain bread in my home, folks.  Step up.  Booyah!)…

And yet it is so stinking lively and fun.

My husband is currently in an Asian country far and away to receive surgery for his knee (it’s a closer and better price than sending him to the US)…and I am yet again alone.

But with toddlers are you ever REALLY alone?

Heavens no!

This morning, as my son woke up screaming because he NEEDS his momma—waking toddler youngest…I dragged them both into bed with me, where none of us then went back to sleep.

And soon I hear toddler youngest screaming, as I am finally drifting slowly into a peaceful semi-awake slumber—No!  Those are my TOES!

Yes, toes, my friends.  Her brother looked at her toes…

Later, after I finally dragged us all out of bed.  My youngest pulled out his bubble gun that makes fluffing noises (as in passing gas).

He asked, “What’s that noise, Momma?”

“That’s farter-warter noises,” I responded (our way of saying fluffer-wuffers ;))

“Oh—Farter-warters like MOMMA!”  He then proceeded to shout with glee.

There is a time for every season under the sun—and, I have to admit, while this time in my life is tiring and busy and messy and everything else related to having Littles…

I would never want to miss this season under the sun.

Oh how I love my truthful, NO shouting, honest speaking toddlers.

They make my heart complete!

Daddy on the Potty

The other day I went to the bathroom. Alone. It was evening. My husband was home.

When I went to the physical presence of the room with the toilet, ALL THREE of my children were occupied with 1 million other activities.

BUT—and what is it about THAT DOOR—But when that door shut, it is as if the world DID stop spinning and the only thing that was important was THAT DOOR!

I had closed it.

I had closed myself off from that OTHER world.

The world where littles occupy my legs. My hands. My thoughts. My mind.

And I went for a very biological reason to the toilet. But the toilet, once you are a mommy, serves not just the physiological but the MENTAL worlds that are YOU.

YET. And, I repeat, when I went to the restroom, my husband was at home and all three of my children were playing happily…

Yet when I closed myself off from their worlds, all hinges came unscrewed.  INCLUDING those holding that door shut.

My littlest (Josephine 14 months) came knocking and shouting.  My 2nd littlest (Maxwell 22 months) began peeking through the holes at the bottom, fingers sticking through, shouting my name.  My oldest (Adelyne) went and found a coin that acts as the PERFECT bathroom key and UNLOCKED that door.

My sanity was lost in the chaos that ensued.  No peace.  No pee.  Because, of course, no peace.  And all three just DYING to know when I would be out of that room and in their presence yet again.

My husband—he filmed the ENTIRE event from the other room—while laughing.

Picture it—Mommy in the bathroom—kids interrupting everything.  Mommy shouting for FREEDOM AND PEACE.  Daddy in the background laughing.  Kids coming in and out of the now open door.  Mommy losing what little strand of sanity she has left (which was not a lot to begin with).

If you are a mom, you know EXACTLY what I am talking about, right?!

But—if you are the daddy—for some reason, this is probably NOT what you know.

You go to the restroom.  You lock the door.  You grab a newspaper.  Your legs fall asleep from spending so much peaceful time on the potty—locked in your own private world—with your favorite sports author sharing all of the exciting news of the upcoming blah blah blah sports season.

When you’ve read the entire paper, you exit.  In peace.  And everyone is doing the same thing that they were doing when you retreated.

YEP!  I noticed this EXACT scenario the other day—the day following my bathroom chaos—when Richard went to the toilet.

And this is what I thought…WHY???  Why does Richard get the luxury of a few unspoiled moments in the bathroom?  Alone?  No shouting or crying kids?  Completing his “duty” in peace?  Why????

Therefore this Momma shouted, “Hey, Kids!  Guess what?!  Daddy is in the bathroom.  GO AND GET HIM!”

BAM!  All excitement broke loose.

The door was opened, the kids ran in…Daddy tried to be a good sport for as long as possible—until daddy didn’t find the “sport” fun any longer.  Then the kids were banished and lots of threats ensued.

I am fairly certain the children will leave daddy in peace from here on out when he’s on the pot.

But Mommy?  Forget about it—Today I was fishing my littlest out of the toilets snares while I was simply trying to pee.

In peace.

Silly me!

Mom…

mom…i didn’t understand you, until i became you.

and now i don’t just appreciate you, i admire you more.  love you more.  and can never seem to learn enough from you.

you taught me to love.

to forgive.

to say i’m sorry.

to accept others.

to give.

you helped us live through laughter.

through creativity.

through giving.

you put others first.

you never complain.

and you are always there when we need you.

mom, words will never be enough, and so i’ll leave you with a simple wish…

i wish you continued beauty and grace.

love and laughter.

cuddles and kisses.

i wish you every bright and shining memory of a gloriously-gifted life.

a healthy countenance.

and joy in your children and our children…

and one day their children.

mom, i wish you a day to be celebrated for being the greatest woman in history.  or, at least, my history!

i love you, mom.

happy birthday!

 

Everyone should take the time to be a kite-flying, toothless, flapper…Selling lemonade to no one while dancing down the streets of Europe!

I thought my life was full…bursting really to the brim.  And then I became a mom.

NOTHING beat that.

The morning sickness of pregnancy (Which means-all day, all night, all 42 weeks into labor itself)…Glorious!

Even labor…

My 1^st labor went a little like this:

“Here, Rich, hold my hair…Puke. Puke.”

Doctor to me, “Are you ready to push now?”

“Yes.”

Puke. Puke.

“Can you push again?  She’s crowning…”

Puke. Puke.

“Okay.”

Push. Push.

And, of course, my husband being a first time daddy had no clue…

Doctor to Richard, “Okay—count to 10 for her and she’ll push the entire 10 seconds.”

Richard, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…..20!”

By now, my brain is exploding, my eyes have popped out of my head, my face is blue.  I.AM.DONE.

Finally, after Richard’s doubled “10 seconds” are over, I loudly proclaimed, “Don’t you EVER count to 20 again!”

While he thought, “Oh, the longer I count, the longer she’ll push…maybe the baby will pop right out.”  Typical man.

My body thought, “Lord have mercy!  I need oxygen!  Why is this man still counting?  Who married him anyway?!  Get rid of him and find someone new!”  No joke.

Puke.  Puke.

But finally, after many more sessions of 10 seconds (ONLY 10 seconds) and lots of puking, we had our first bundle of joy.

Ah.  Such pride.

Wait…is that a girl?  Is she mine?  I am decently cute, her daddy is hot…She looks as if she has been boxed in the face.  Is that normal?   No, I mean…I love her.  Sure, give her to me.

Kiss. Kiss. Cuddle. Cuddle (All for show, folks.  All for show.  Wanted to make sure that they didn’t take my baby away from me because I was an unfit admirer of this new, blotchy, boxed-looking creature :))

Kiss. Kiss. Cuddle. Cuddle.

Surprisingly—no more puking.

And overnight our lives changed.

Screaming.

Crying.

And the baby did some of those things, too.

And then, just like the sage wisdom my mom passed on…It too did pass.  Both the baby’s crying and my crying.

Sleep invaded our home once again.

I began to feel less like a zombie and more like a … Well, like a…Hmmm.  Well, let’s say less like a human delivery truck.

Anyhow—and the months flew by!  And then the years.

In Poland, they say that time runs.   Truly—my daughter won the Olympic Gold of the 100-meter-dash, because, in no time, she went from my boxed wonder to her very own version of her very own self—and that was FUN to watch.

Let me insert something here—had I been thinking clearly, I would have prepared myself for an independent-minded young lady with a style all her own.

But no.  I prepared myself for—I shall dress you in pretty dresses and bows and put you in pageants (okay, not really the pageant part) and decorate you like a dolly.   Oh how I love dollies!

Why did she NEVER let me do this?

It seems like as soon as she could take off her own diaper—I had no control over her clothes.  Her beautiful girly-girl clothes.

Sigh.

Those dolls sometimes make better babies.  (Okay—I’m just kidding.  Don’t take my kid away from me.)

But because of Adelyne’s uber-I am my own kid and style-self, I have been gifted the greatest gift…Memories of the uniqueness of her life—called childhood!  And I wouldn’t trade one moment for a frilly dress and beautiful bow.  Although there are times when I would like just ONE picture in the photo album where she is a little less her and a little more compliant.  Nah.  Who am I kidding?  I love her sense of HER!

And, so friends, I give you Adelyne as your very own encouragement…

May you be the YOU that you are…

Whether it is a kite-flying,

Toothless,

Flapper,

That sells lemonade to virtually no one (notice all the neighboring homes???)

While dancing down the streets of Europe (and even gets her grandparents to join her party)!

Why be anyone else?

Be your own self and fly!

And, yes…She wore these wings to kindergarten registration.

Smile and take pictures, Mom.  Smile and take pictures!