I keep sitting down to write something super meaningful and deep but then Arbor interrupts asking me to play DJ to the soundtrack of her day, and I’m alright with this, especially when the playlist consists of one song and one song only: Bidi Bidi Bom Bom, by Selena, which Arbor rightfully pronounces as “Sehweenas”. Who am I to get in the way of a sweet Tejano dance-off between Kermit the Frog, a bald clothesless baby doll, and the world’s most blondest three-year-old? This is a thing that comes before mom-blogging, so, hey. Me running my mouth about coffee and diapers can wait.
So mom blogs, eh? Is it just me or are they all (mine included) starting to sound like maybe–just maybe–none of us actually like parenting? The whole “keeping the kids alive til five”, “Wine-thirty” and “you suck as a mom and that’s okay” themes are getting tired; I’m normally public enemy number one, but lately I’ve become ashamed of the days where I’ve mentally called it quits before my head even lifts from the pillow.
Let’s do better.
Yeah sure we’re exhausted and no one is getting paid, and ain’t nobody got time for homemade baby food (seriously, STOP) when there’s butts to wipe and laundry to fold. (haha just kidding, laundry’s not getting folded.)
This is important: I’ve wasted a lot of valuable time–YEARS–wishing I were anywhere else but home taking care of children. Career Toni never took off but stay-at-home-mom Toni flew before she even realized she had those kind of wings. If I could give my young mom friends a piece of advice, it would be to EMBRACE THIS. Embrace motherhood.
This is where you are. And this is whoyou are–for life. Be proud of it! You were the one chosen to hug your kids and tell them stories. You feed them the things that make their bodies strong. You do the puzzles and braid the hair, you make the hot chocolate and you kiss the boo-boos. You make the rules and enforce them. You play the catch and read the books. You take the moody preteen out for slushies and bra-shopping, and you’re the one God designated to initiate those heart-to-hearts on the days you can sense she’s feeling down and her friends have been crappy. You make eye contact after school and listen to every word they have to tell you about their day. You push the strollers and cheer over every home run, you teach them kindness and thoughtfulness and respectfulness, and you give them love.
That’s you, Mom.
No one else.
I’m not saying we all need to don cardigans and have Pinterest-worthy snacks and crafts waiting for our children after school. We don’t have to love sleepless nights and colic. We might like to stick our head in the oven before reading “Green Eggs and Ham” with a five year old for the billionth time. And you don’t have to lose yourself–go ahead and get that bomb tattoo that has nothing to do with your childrens’ birth dates and everything to do with your love of anything steampunk.
But we can make peace with doing the things our children need us to do. We can go to bed before 9 p.m. and sleep soundly knowing that it’s ok to not be hungover when our kids are jumping on the bed before sunrise begging for scrambled eggs that they won’t even eat. We can step up our mom-game without fear of being called obnoxious or pathetic or annoying, because the people that would say that DON’T EVEN KNOW.
It’s not the cool thing to admit I don’t guzzle wine by the bottle or plan moms’ nights out 10 times a month.
But dang it, I’m a good mom. And that’s ok.