So being a Mom is hard.
I fear that when they grow up they’re going to be sitting around with their college friends (notice I said “college friends” because I’m willing them to want what I want already; the boundaries/shackles/expectations are on them already) like, “Yeah. My Dad was pretty laid back, but my Mom was a yeller. Like all the time. She yelled all.of.the.time.”
Hi, my name is Kylee.
I was loud as a child.
I was even louder as a teenager.
And I’m even louder as a Mom.
(My house isn’t a quiet one.)
See, but here’s the thing – they can’t hear me.
I think they legitimately cannot hear me, (or chose not to hear me?), therefore I’m resigned to using my outside voice so frequently that I no longer can distinguish between my “inside” and “outside” voice; yet ironically I still expect them to know the difference between the two. (Hmmm….)
I’m also a big fan of “No.”
I know it was a big deal a while back with the Pinterest-y sorts* to have the “Day of Yes” for the kids. Are you aware? After the kids receive trophies for participation in group sports and goodie bags comparable to the ones given away at the Oscars just for going to a six-year-old’s birthday party, they’re ALSO supposed to be given a day wherein you willingly allow the child to hijack your life and you are forced by way of previous agreement to do what they want to do. ALL day. Not for part of the day. All day.
See, I don’t have time for that.
Life isn’t about, “Yes! Sure! You can do whatever you want! Of COURSE you can put your whole little dirty hand in the cake batter bowl of life! THIS IS YOUR WORLD! You don’t get to just lick the batter! YOU GET TO EAT ALL OF THE CAKE MIX in the bowl. Just because you want to!”
And get salmonella.
And have terrible salmonella cramps.
And ruin the cake for everyone else.
And go to the hospital.
And have to get an IV.
Nothing good comes from eating the whole bowl of cake batter.
You may only have a lick of the beater. Why? [Let’s say it together:] BECAUSE I SAID SO.
So back to being a Mom.
My GOAL in Momming is to do these things:
1.) Not to raise jerks, but instead good, kind, manner-full beings.
2.) To raise kids who love music and books.
3.) To raise children who have empathy.
4.) To raise children who respect Lionel Richie.
5.) To raise kiddos who know that they are always loved by Us (their parents) and God.
I want my kids to know that are fearfully and wonderfully made and that they.are.enough.just.as.they.are.
But I also want my kids to know when I’ve had enough.
I think it’s only fair that they see every facet of parenting; not just the cotton candy, Disneyland, it’s-your-birthday parts.
The truth of the matter is that behind every trip to Disneyland there are meltdowns, random transportation vomiting and at least one statue-standing fit wherein a child yells at you, “YOU ARE MEAN!”
The instagram photos don’t show that.
And the other truth of the matter is that behind every fancy-dancy photoshoot with families wearing non-matching, yet cleverly-coordinating patterns and colors is one kid who refuses to stop moving, start smiling and JUST ACT NORMAL FOR AT LEAST 30 SECONDS. “Let’s GET AT LEAST ONE NORMAL PHOTO FOR THE CHRISTMAS CARD ALREADY?!”
And let’s remember that for every first day of school picture there’s a, “CAN YOU JUST, for one minute, stand there and hug your sister without hurting her and ACT like you love her?”
This, my friends, THIS, is being a Mom.
There are also some amazing moments, too.
Like when one of your kids says your name for the 203th time that morning and then instead of a request, she says, “I love you.”
Or when you get dressed up for a much-needed night out and one of your kiddos reports, “You look so beautiful…” Then asks, “Can I have that dress when I’m old?”
…wait a minute… [turns head to the side… did she just say I was old?]
So being a Mom is the absolute BEST (and the absolute WORST) at times.
But I seriously believe that if you set the bar, they’ll rise to it.
And I also believe that no matter what, they’re worth it.
They’re always, always worth it.
|Given to me Sunday morning from Vivi – age 4.5.|
|Given to me by Lila – age 6. Love that “mi” – yay for living in Mexico and bilingual kids.|