I love being a mom. Of course I have my complaints, I mean who doesn't?
Like the fact that they use 800 cups a day and so I can't tell you the last time my sink was TOTALLY empty. Or how I have not had a clean house for longer than a week since 1997. Or how I am constantly breaking up arguments over who got more popcorn or who picked the last movie or who forgot to flush the toilet (that one's my fave).
Or how I have driven 7,685,492 miles (give or take a few) to and from baseball practice, birthday parties, doctor's offices, karate, play dates, etc. Or how I have consumed 4,397,582,691 calories eating at McDonalds, Peter Piper Pizza, Burger King and every other God forsaken, cardboard serving, grease pit in the continental United States.
But when push comes to shove, I love being a mom.
I adore these smelly, messy, self absorbed, obnoxiously loud, crazy, psychotic monkeys. Even when they pick the lantanna flowers and present them to me, completely unaware that I am severely allergic. Even when they were little and held a graham cracker out for me to take a bite, only to discover it was wet and soggy and covered in drool. Even when the oldest told his preschool teacher I hit him in the head. With a baseball bat. Repeatedly. Or when the middle one colored all over himself with my new MAC lipstick. Along with the carpet, the walls and my Tommy Hilfiger bedspread. Or what about the time the youngest one yanked her blanket off of my shoulder as she nursed, exposing me to a waiter as he filled my glass of iced tea.
"And there's my boob," I said to him as my face turned red.
"Hmm," he replied. "I'm gay so it doesn't do a thing for me."
Yeah. Good times.
But where would I be without these ankle biters following me across the Target parking lot like little ducks? (Besides rich, thin and completely void of stretchmarks.)
My life is blessed. Messy. Chaotic. Unorganized. But beyond blessed.
I am thankful for my Junior, the one who made me a mommy. I love that he is the only one with my blue/green eyes. I love that he is a 50 year old man trapped in the body of an 11 year old. I love that he reads finance magazines and TiVos Mad Money. I love that he makes breakfast for his sister in the mornings and he unloads the dishwasher without being asked. I love that he's not afraid to talk to anyone and everyone and is never intimidated. I love that he is compassionate. I love that he loves baseball. And he still wants to give me a kiss goodnight.
I am blessed to have my little Mac, the one with the contagious laugh and stomach of steel. I love that he has a soft spot for animals. I love that no matter what I ask him to do, he will try to negotiate his way out of it. I love that he is quiet and needs time to himself and is not afraid to ask for it. I love that he asks for books for his birthday and it's important to him to look good when he leaves the house. I love his competitive spirit and his ability to make everyone laugh at any time. And I love that when I screw something up (like burn dinner or forget an appointment), he always says "It's okay mom, nobody's perfect."
I am over the moon that God gave me my baby girl Boo. I love that she is independent and strong willed. I love that she is curious and asks a million questions upon questions upon questions. I love that she is girly and likes things that sparkle. I love that she is already learning to read. I love that she sings and dances and does the air drums when she hears Phil Collins "In the Air Tonight." I love that no matter what she is doing, when she hears her daddy come in the door, she drops everything and runs to him with her arms outstretched. I love that her favorite movie is 13 Going on 30 and when she's a picture of Daniel Craig she says "Oooh Mommy, that's your boyfriend!"
I love these crazy little monkeys. And I love being their mom.
Happy Mother's Day!!!