Happy Mother's Day 2010!

It is 8:02 p.m. on a Tuesday night. Kendal is at a meeting and I just got the kids into bed (except my 5 month old). I think I am perspiring, no, I know I am perspiring. By no means are they asleep, nor even close. I just checked in on Silas and he is out of bed, his basket of toys dumped upside down and playing on it as if it was a table. The other two trouble makers are pulling every possible blanket and special "just have to have it" toy into their beds. Yes, I have already threatened them with the "get in bed or else" speech, it doesn't seem to phase them. I am trying to encourage myself to fold the ever growing mountain of laundry that is piled thigh high on my floor. I give myself a little pep talk on all the things I did manage to accomplish today: Lucas made it to school ( I think on time. See, Kendal and I were deep in discussion when we saw the neighbor boy running for the school bus...whoopsie, Lucas was still in his underwear. Kendal drove him and we told him to get hot lunch, because I didn't get his cold lunch packed). Lucas made it home from school, all the in between time was a blur. I know I did some stuff with my business and the kids were fed, Silas was bathed twice, laundry was rotated in and out of their laundering cycles and I even squeezed in a few minutes of chatting on the phone. Dinner was made and warm, homemade cookies were sent with Kendal to the meeting. Yes, it was a pretty pleasant day.

Motherhood is the hardest job I have ever had. Never in the history of my life have I cried so much with "on the job training". As I cradled my 9 month tummy with my first babe, never once did the thought cross my mind that, this child will push me so close to insanity, I can taste the asylum's mashed potatoes. Yes, a three year old can have you calling your husband and saying random things like..."if you don't come home right now, I, I just, I just don't know what is going to happen...". So people tell me anyways.

A child can make the most beautiful things filthy rags in 2 seconds and any pride you had in your home somehow vanishes. When we moved into our little 1198 sq. foot home with a pregnant belly, a 3 month old pup, a cat and boxes that we had packed, unpacked and repacked approximitely 8 times, we would bring anyone in to tour our grand abode. Now I meet the UPS man in the driveway so he can't smell whatever is lurking if he made it all the way to the door. Children seem to be spilling out of the windows and I look as I was an old mother that lived in a shoe.

At nap time you gather your thoughts and take a moment to compliment yourself on what a fantastic Mother you are. In that moment, your little one becomes an Angel. You find yourself peeking into their room to bask in your pride, when...you find them somehow dressed is something slick and shiny. Your eyes seem fuzzy as if you just aren't seeing things quite right. Yep, naked with a smile, covered head to toe in vaseline. There seems to be a huge slug that has left a trail of goo all over the floor, walls, bed and dresser. His hair is so thick with it, you wonder if you will even need to buy hair gel when he is in high school.


I have many graceful and mature moments with my children, like the time I was in the kitchen. Standing at the sink I hear a very familiar sound coming from down the hallway. It makes me feel pampered and sleepy. It is the sound of a bottle being squeezed. It is sounding empty and like something is being forced out of it. WAIT! I know why I feel pampered when that sound is made (think Pavlov's Dog)...I put down whatever I was doing in the kitchen, do the "running in quicksand," jump over the laundry basket, step on hotwheels cars, sprint to the bathtub to find my lovely child, squeezing my precious Mary Kay, $55.oo for a 2 ounce bottle, of TimeWise Microdermabrasion, in...to.....the....tub....

Oh the horror! I pull the wee one out of the bath and stare at the white floating skin softening only self indulgent facial creaminess that I own. It stares back in sadness. I grieve.
I figure it is a loss and start to drain the water. I lean with one arm against the side of the shower wall and the other arm on my hip. I keep starring at it's all encompassing goodness. I weigh my options. Do I really just let it go down the drain? Should I try and get some of it back into the bottle? Do I scrub my face and anything else that is not covered by clothing? The water is almost gone from the tub and I have got to make a decision. I reach for it, I stand back up. I reach for it again..."no that is gross," I stand back up. I reach for it and quickly swipe my three middle fingers through the grit and grime of the child's tub to get as much of the white gold as I could. I close my eyes as I put it on my face with who knows what else that came with it. I think of how cheap, and desperate I am. I quickly erase all negative thoughts as I partake in my "calgone" moment.


I gently take a towel to my face and look in the mirror. Yes, it has come to this. "You are a Mother", not just any mother, but a mother that isn't proud to wash her face from the bottom of a dirty tub. This is the life I have carved out for myself. My stretchmarks are like works of art with a wide variety of color and texture. Picaso would be jealous of their abstract features. My "pregnancy mask" is in the shape of a thunder bolt under my left eye and ever so perfectly along my upper lip. Yes, it looks like a stache. And this extra 15lbs. I carry around is a reminder of my 4 loving little boys. Yes, Motherhood isn't pretty, but I am thankful for this quiet moment at 9:41 p.m. that I can say, "today was pretty pleasant," and know that I can make it again tomorrow. 2010 was my first mother's day as a complete set of 4 boys wished me well on my special day. I hope I never take a moment with them for granted, even those less than graceful and mature moments.

Happy Mother's Day!