I do many, many things wrong as a mother. I lose my temper. I don’t always stick to consistent routines. I try to balance working from home with entertaining my kids, and it doesn’t always work. But I do three things consistently right. I make sure my girls eat a variety of healthy home-cooked foods. I pray openly and often in front of and with them. And I read and read and read whichever books they desire. So for all I do wrong, I can cling to these three things I do right.
Look at their sweet faces. Can they really drive me crazy? Yes. Yes they can.
Mom?
What?
Um….mom?
What?!
Mom…can I have…um….
WHAT?! You’re stressing me out, kid!
Some days, I am full of love and patience and only soft words for my children. Other days, though, I am impatient and unkind. I am Old Yeller. Trivial things get under my skin. Usually ones that happen after some major annoyance. (Like the toddler knocking over an entire two-liter of Sierra Mist on purpose as you’re pouring a little bit for your sick preschooler who’s laying on the couch. And that was after the dog puked on the floor and the kitty jumped up on the kitchen counter and ate my breakfast.) There are times when I imagine living with cameras in my house, recording my every move. Super Nanny wouldn’t approve.
I …
Me and my Advertising Campaigns classmates senior year of college (many of us are still friends today). I thought I was on top of the world then. I had no idea. (I also have no idea why I struck some Peter Pan pose in the back.)
Me, in baggy jeans and cotton jacket, shuffling across the scuffed-up kitchen floor, singing, dancing, feeling more alive than I have in a long time. I scraped dried strawberry yogurt off the Little Tikes picnic table, and grumbled when I got some under my thumb nail (I hate that feeling), but still, I sang. I boiled a glass of water in the microwave, steaming off the splattered food particles that clung to the top and sides. Still, I sang. I sprayed, and wiped and swept…and sang. And danced. My …
See? Mommy used the f-bomb three times! Let’s just hope grandma doesn’t see! (image from: grandparents.com)
I’m not going to lie. I sure like logging into my dashboard and seeing triple digits not long after I make a post. (Quadruple digits would be nice, someday, but I’m not there yet.) But there are some things I just won’t do for views. After all, I care more about (way more about) quality than quantity.
No-oooh…I won’t do that:
1. Drop the Bomb: You know the one. The salty language used by some bloggers may draw “tsk-tsks” finger wagging, but it also draws attention. And attention means more page views. And while I would love to see my work circulate online faster than a LOL Cat meme, it’s just not worth it to me. Yes, I’m very candid and …
“Mommy, a girl at preschool wants these scary looking dolls for Christmas.”
Which dolls, honey? Monster High dolls?
“Yes. I don’t think they teach good lessons, so I don’t want any.”
Huzzah! I got through to her! Somewhere along the way, through our many discussions about what is healthy and what is appropriate, she got it. Now, what to do about that Disney Princess Moon Walk she keeps asking for…
Barbie seems like a prude compared to this, um, creature. (image from fanpop.com)
My handsome grandfather. My hero.
Dear Grandad Patterson,
I never met you, but that didn’t mean I didn’t know about you. My dad talked about you all the time. Still does. He told me all about your heroism. He talked about how you went to war. He talked about how you never came home. At 26, you left a wife and three young children at home. But you also left a legacy. One of love, and one of loyalty to this great country you fought for. You died for. Thank you for your sacrifice. If it wasn’t for men and women like you, I might not be here. My children wouldn’t be here. You gave your life for me. For them. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Love,
Catherine