Sweet momma-to-be

i saw you today at the pool, mother-to-be.

i saw your gloriously large, bulging-with-life belly.

i saw your adorable messy bun, or top-knot, or whatever it’s called these days.

i saw your neatly packed pool bag, complete with snacks & a good book & all the things sunscreen.

i saw your sun-kissed cheeks & your tanned arms.

i saw your fluffy, like-new beach towel…i am sure it smelled of fresh detergent.

i saw your classy, scratch-proof, polarized sunglasses. (for more on my love of sunglasses, read An open letter to the young mother I met at the beach  )

22 years ago, i was you.

i was just on the verge of motherhood.

i was eager with anticipation.

i was ready to meet my little one & show him/her the world.

i had hopes & dreams & nervous excitement & fear.

i was sure my child would be Valedictorian & also sure that he/she would never learn to breastfeed correctly.

i was convinced i would raise a child who would become a doctor or a lawyer & I was also just as sure that he/she might end up a homeless beggar.

i was certain i would have a child that loved God & maybe would become a preacher just like his/her father & I was also maybe just as sure he/she might become a serial killer.

i thought it all.

i compared my belly to other pregnant mothers.

i compared my skin tone to that of others.

if i knew my neighbor read to the baby in HER belly every night, EVEN ON THE WEEKENDS, i wondered should i be reading to the baby in my belly more??

did i need a gate or a fence or even a wall to protect my little person from getting out into the world? did i need the same to keep the world from getting in?

i wondered if my house was equipped enough to raise a child & was my heart big enough to love one.

would i be able to stay home?

would i be able to work?

could i honestly say i was ready to commit my life to following another human being around for at least a minimum of the next 7-10 years EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY DAY, minus, possibly, some time while he/she slept????

would i ever read another book or go out on another date or take time for myself at the gym or to sleep??? would i ever even sleep again???

would i forget my child in the tub or the church or the store or, God forbid, the car????

was i even capable of mothering?

here’s what i can tell you twenty-two years later sweet, ready-to-bloom momma:

you will do it all wrong & you will simultaneously do it all right.

you will have moments of sheer genius & they will be preceded or followed just as quickly by moments of sheer madness.

sweet momma, your hopes & dreams & excitement & fear are all valid & they are all okay.

if your child is Valedictorian, that will be amazing.

if he/she never learns to breastfeed properly, guess what?? that is okay as well.

if you raise a child who becomes a doctor or a lawyer, fantastic…but, homeless beggars have mommas, too. 

they have people who love them & miss them & pray for them & want to hold them and THAT IS ALL OKAY.

you might raise a child who loves God. cling to that. verbalize that. embrace & proclaim that.

he/she might become a preacher. that would be incredible.

but, serial killers have mommas as well. and IT’S NOT THEIR FAULT. they still love them & miss them & pray for them & want to hold them.

keep your focus, momma.

don’t look to the neighbor on the right or the neighbor on the left for your validation.

don’t watch another woman walk the aisles of the grocery store & wonder how you measure up.

you were only meant to be you & your sweet child was meant for the parents he/she is born into or adopted out to and EVERY BIT OF THAT IS IN THE MASTER PLAN.

you will laugh & you will cry & you will curse & you will pray.

you will watch your dreams rise & fall & you will watch their dreams do the same.

and one day, one day that will be here much sooner than you could ever believe possible, you will be me.

you will see the fresh mommas just starting this journey & you will remember it all.

it’s all worth it.

let your journey be your own & allow your momma friends to have their own journeys as well. 

everyone will have much more to talk about sitting on the park bench in a few years, if so.

and so there is that…

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Broken Things

I heard it from the other room.

There was no mistaking the sound of a glass breaking on the unforgiving tile of the kitchen floor.

I wandered in to make sure no one was hurt & immediately grabbed the broom. There were pieces everywhere. I immediately went into mom mode, sweeping & warning little feet to stay away. It was a school morning, so time was precious. I had to choose between losing my cool and cleaning up the mess. There wasn’t time or energy for both. I swept under & around things. I was in a hurry so I’m sure it wasn’t my best work. I didn’t bother trying to figure out in my head which glass it was. I knew knowing that wouldn’t make it “unbroken”. (This is also the reason so many of my glasses are Goodwill thrifts or hand-me-overs from friends & family). It was pointless to try and make sense of the mess to calculate the loss. Seeing the glass there, in shards of every size made me think of the nature of broken things. Some broken things are easily repaired. We pick up the pieces & put them back together. Easily said & easily done. But, this broken glass…not so much. It was in too many pieces to count & it was an impossible situation to try and find them all and make it look like it once had. And even if it looked right, it could never function the way it originally had. The pieces that were missing might have been unseen, but they would certainly be missed & in the mess of the swept up broken glass, so many others things had gathered. There was dirt from the past & dust from neglect & other random things that didn’t make for a neat, tidy pile. Things in life break. It’s that simple. The question is, when things break, how do we handle the mess? Do we look at the rubble & try and figure out what broke? Do we calculate our loss & try and make sense of the mess?Sometimes, that’s how we need to handle a mess. Sometimes. But sometimes…Sometimes things aren’t easily repaired. Sometimes we can’t simply pick up the pieces and put them back together. Sometimes it’s not easily said & easily done. Sometimes there are just too many broken pieces to count & it will be an impossible situation to try and find them all and make things look like they once had. We don’t all see the same pieces as being important. And making things look like they originally had never guarantees they will function like they originally did. There will be dirt from the past & dust from neglect & other random things that don’t make for a neat, tidy pile. Maybe, just maybe, if we focused on the mess as a whole rather than the individual pieces, our clean-up would fair better. Maybe, just maybe, we could all just pick up the broom and get to work. Sometimes we will have to choose between losing our cool & cleaning up the mess…there will not be time & energy for both. Choose wisely. and so there is that..,

To the Mom who feels she is doing it all wrong …

I see you.

I see your weary eyes & tear-stained cheeks.

I see your well-dressed littles & know deep inside you have neglected yourself for their sake.

I hear your trembling voice.

I watch your insecure mannerisms.

I feel your comparison.

Your gauge.

Your determination to “measure up”.

I get it.

I see you.

I hear you.

I feel you.

I AM you.

We are raising these humans and we are trying to keep our sanity.

We have walked away from careers & hobbies & spontaneity, all for the sake of 20+ years from now.

We aim for meaningful conversation, but we end up with small talk & awkward silence.

We plan purposeful events & memory-building moments, and we end up with blurry pictures & blurry eyes.

We try to capture it all & in the process we miss so much.

We are seeking to be all things to all our people & we keep losing track of ourselves.

We won’t give ourselves a break or let ourselves off the hook.

This thing…this motherhood thing…

It’s so hard.

It’s painful to our bodies & our hearts & our core.

And so we isolate ourselves in a cocoon of safety & routine.

We stick to the plan & we clean up the messes & we look around at the end of the day & wonder how we will do it all again tomorrow.

And some days, if we are just being brutally honest, we don’t want to.

We want to sail away into the sunset…drive away and not look back…pack a bag, grab a map & go searching for the person we lost along the way.

Our people, they need us.

They need us for dental appointments & haircuts & toilet paper & school pictures.

They need us for concert attendance & lunch money & white poster board at 10 pm.

They need us for forgotten papers & winter coats & food…all the time, food.

But, here’s the thing.

They need us for so much more than that.

They need us for validation & for inspiration & for recommendation.

They need hard truth.

And fierce hugs.

And honesty.

They need us to be okay with ourselves. With our bodies & our minds & our choices.

They need to know that we can love them because we love ourselves & we love each other.

We can’t go around clipping each other off at the knees because we have a better recipe or a better house or a better life.

We need to be a tribe.

We need to have each other’s backs when we fail. We need to reach out and help each other up and be for each other what we need most for ourselves.

We are a team, mommas.

If we raise our kids to think we have all the answers & we need no one, we raise them to believe a lie.

If we raise them comparing and complaining, we will reap entitled, selfish adults.

If we don’t let them see we are vulnerable & that we fail & that we need each other, we raise them to believe they can exist alone…and they will become bitter, lonely adults.

Look around, mommas.

Phone a friend.

Make eye contact.

Look across the parking lot or grocery store aisle or waiting room office.

We are there.

Each and every one of us.

We need each other.

Every. Single. Day.

Don’t give up.

Hang on. Be the help while you wait for the help. Meet the need while you are needy. Reach out a hand when you feel most like reaching into yourself.

Together, we can make this thing happen.

And even if we never have a Pioneer Woman meal or a Joanna Gaines home or a Jillian Michaels body, we will have each other.

There is strength in numbers.

Look for me because I will be looking for you, sweet momma friends.

We’ve got this.

and so there is that…

Field trips, forms & fanatical behavior…

 

 

 

field TripThere is a running dialogue that is held at our house a minimum of twice a month. It usually goes something like this:

Unnamed Middle Schooler: “Mom, did you remember I need a bag lunch for my field trip.”

Me: “When is the field trip?”

Unnamed Middle Schooler: “Ummm…I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow.”

Me: “What do you mean you don’t know? How am I supposed to remember when YOU have a field trip if YOU don’t even remember YOU have a field trip??”

Unnamed Middle Schooler: “Mom. Why are you yelling?”

Me: “I am not yelling. I CAN yell, though, if you’d like to know what yelling sounds like.”

Unnamed Middle Schooler: “Gosh, Mom. I just need to know if you remember I need a bag lunch. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Me: “How is it not a big deal? Do you want to be the only kid on the field trip, WHENEVER IT EVEN IS, without a lunch? Do you want to be THAT kid?? Do you want all your friends and your teachers to think we cannot afford food? or that you aren’t loved?”

Unnamed Middle Schooler: “I think you are acting crazy now. Maybe you even ARE crazy. I just need a lunch…for whenever the field trip is.”

Me: “HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO PACK A BAG LUNCH WHEN I HAVE NO IDEA WHEN THE FIELD TRIP EVEN IS???”

Unnamed Middle Schooler: “Now you most definitely ARE yelling.”

Me: “OH YEAH KID! YOU HAD BETTER BELIEVE I AM YELLING NOW! I NEED TO PACK A LUNCH FOR A FIELD TRIP THAT YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHEN YOU ARE LEAVING FOR AND SOMEHOW I AM SUPPOSED TO REMEMBER SO THAT I CAN MAKE SURE YOU HAVE A LUNCH LIKE ALL YOUR FRIENDS WHO HAVE MOMS THAT ACTUALLY PAY ATTENTION AND KNOW WHEN THEIR CHILDREN WILL BE LEAVING THE SCHOOL CAMPUS!!!!”

Unnamed Middle Schooler: “Mom, seriously. It’s like you are losing your mind. You signed a form. It had all the information on it about the field trip. And I’m pretty sure it’s tomorrow.”

Me (basically on the verge of a full-on aneurysm at this point): “WHAT DO YOU MEAN I SIGNED THE FORM?? WHAT FORM? DO YOU MEAN ONE OF THE 64,000 FORMS YOU BROUGHT HOME THE FIRST WEEK OF SCHOOL THAT HAD TO BE FILLED IN WITH BLUE OR BLACK INK ONLY, NOTARIZED BY A NON-FAMILY MEMBER, AND THEN COPIED IN TRIPLICATE AND RETURNED IN THE MANILLA ENVELOPE THAT I AM SURE I MAILED COUPONS FOR METAMUCIL TO YOUR GRANDMOTHER IN???? IS THAT WHAT YOU MEAN? THOSE FORMS? THE FORMS THAT ALWAYS HAVE ALL THE PERTINENT INFORMATION, LIKE WHEN THE BLESS-ED FIELD TRIP EVEN IS, ON ONE SIDE AND THE PART WHERE I SIGN MY NAME ON THE OTHER, THEREFORE GUARANTEEING THAT WHEN YOU TURN IT IN I IMMEDIATELY LOSE ALL OF THE INFORMATION I WOULD NEED TO AVOID THIS CONVERSATION???? IS THAT THE FORM YOU MEAN????”

Unnamed Middle Schooler: “Ummmm…I have no idea what the right answer is. I think those are the forms I’m talking about.”

Me (trying to get it together so the neighbors don’t call the police): “Listen, I just need to know when the field trip is so that I can make sure you have a lunch. Is that too much to ask? Surely at least ONE teacher today would have mentioned if the field trip to which you are referring is tomorrow, right? Surely they don’t just expect that it was mentioned ONE, SINGULAR time and that you all would remember?? I feel pretty sure that if I were to march into the school RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE the date of the field trip would be written in dry erase marker in EVERY, SINGLE classroom you visit EVERY, SINGLE day of the school year. Is that what you want me to do?? March up into the school right now??”

Unnamed Middle Schooler: “Mom, it’s like 9 o’clock at night. The school is closed. And locked.”

Me (trying out some yoga/meditation breathing I accessed via a youtube video one time): “So, just to make sure I am understanding you. You need a lunch. A bag lunch. For a field trip. You are not sure when the field trip is, but I signed a form giving you permission to go, so somehow I must know when you need the bag lunch. Is that about right?”

Unnamed Middle Schooler: “I feel pretty sure this is a trick question. Is Dad around? Maybe I could ask him.”

Me: “Please. Feel free to ask your father. I am sure he will know. And please feel free to let him know all about this trip you are going on. Where are you even going?

Unnamed Middle Schooler: “I have no idea where we are going. If I knew that, I might remember when we are going.”

Me: “There is no logic in your statement. I do not think I even gave birth to you. Anyone I gave birth to would be sure to remember when they would be boarding a bus to leave the actual school campus to go to wherever you are all going. Anyone with my genes would know when the trip is and where the bus is going.”

Unnamed Middle Schooler: “Oooohhh yuck, Mom. I don’t need your jeans. Just a bag lunch. Maybe it’s on the website.”

Me: “Oh yes, PAAAHHLEASE let me access the website. That’s always fun. Let me search around hither and yon for the username and password that I can never remember. Let me see if I can navigate through all the notifications about the girls only meeting and the book fair, and the sports schedules for the week, and somewhere BURIED IN THERE LIKE A TREASURE JUST WAITING TO BE FOUND, will be the information which I seek. I’m sure that will be exactly how that goes.”

Unnamed Middle Schooler: “I think I’ll just pack a lunch tomorrow just in case. And would you happen to have some spending money? I think we may need some, for wherever we are going.”

*************************************************************************************

Y’all think I’m kidding, I am sure. But, I assure you this happens.

Every. Single. Time.

Teachers, can you help a mother out here? Can you please just make sure those dang forms with all the pertinent information are printed so that I can keep all that info at home? I know that when I need to cut that bottom portion off I will grumble and complain that I can’t find the scissors, but that’s a problem for another day.

Please & thank you.

And so there is that…

Headed for the top…

15-etiquette-rules-for-dining-at-fancy-restaurants

Y’all…

Last week, I ate dinner at a fancy restaurant.

Now listen, here is the part where I leave out the name of the actual fancy-to-me restaurant, lest there be some nay-sayer out in cyberland who feels the need to say something as non-helpful to the universe as, “Actually, I wouldn’t consider (insert name of non-mentioned restaurant here) to be a fancy restaurant.”

For the love of baby Moses floating in the Sweetgrass basket, there were no paper napkins, no plastic ware, no one carried a tray except the wait staff, & I saw not one solitary child the entire time I was there.

That, all summed up, equals fancy to me.

After searching the actual parking lot fruitlessly for a spot, I found a gravel side lot about two continents away, left my car there covered in anointing oil & prayer that it would be there when I got back, & marched my way across the gravel/asphalt/concrete parking area in my wedges (because what is a possibly-fancy dinner without wedges???).

I stopped partially through my journey to take a picture of the building (because, after all, if I eat a meal at a yet-to-be-determined-fancy restaurant & don’t post a picture, did the meal actually even happen???? Ummmm, no Mark Zuckerburg, it did not) and I made my way to the front doors.

Upon entering the doors, I found myself face-to-face (literally because it was stainless steel) with an elevator.

Score: Fancy 1, Not Fancy 0

There was a sign next to the elevator that said something about the rooftop being closed due to a private party. Clearly, I was not headed up there.

Y’all, as Jesus of Nazareth is my witness, I stood there a full four minutes staring at the doors of that elevator. I didn’t push the button. I didn’t look left or right. I literally just stood there, paralyzed, staring at the doors to the elevator as if I was considering jumping off a high-rise building or something. One would think I had never ridden an elevator before in my entire 40-something years of life.

At some point in my nearly catatonic state, the doors of the elevator opened for me to be confronted with some restaurant patrons & a young girl dressed all in black holding menus. I used my deductive reasoning & concluded she was an employee, so I asked her which way I needed to go to the main dining floor (nevermind the fact that none of them exited the elevator, which left me wondering where in the world they just came from).

After a cute little snicker, she assured me the main dining floor was up, and we began our ascent, at which time she said, “We are headed to the fourth floor.”

Now y’all, it made total sense to me that by “we” she meant she & her patron friends, so I just figured we were riding to the top first before finding the floor I was supposed to exit on (and by this time, I am pretty sure my friends are well past appetizers, so what’s a little joyride at this point anyway????) so I just stood there as the doors to the elevator opened on the fourth floor as promised.

And no one moved.

Not the patrons.

Not the cute young employee in black holding menus.

& not me either.

I just stood there waiting for the doors to close so I could go back down to the floor I was supposed to get off on.

Finally, after a long, awkward pause, I said, “Oh, is this the main dining room floor?” and the cute, young waitress said, “Well, yes,” as if I was supposed to be a clairvoyant or something.

Sheesh.

A little direction goes a long way, Flo.

The rest of the evening was amazing & uneventful, in a good way.

The food was all unpronounceable to me & fancier than our finest meals at a family gathering. The Sangria was fruity & fresh, the conversation was light & the food was rich & hearty.

I decided I like fancy restaurants. I guess I’m gonna need the hubby to get another part-time job.

Or, maybe I could just get a job riding up and down that elevator directing people to the correct floor. I feel certain I could be a little more helpful.

And so there is that…

 

 

 

I’m not blind…

Tuesday morning after the eclipse, my Rileigh came bounding downstairs proclaiming, “I’m not blind!”.

If y’all know my girl, you are not surprised by the fact that she spent the days & hours before the big event Googling things like “How long does it take a retina to burn?” & “Quality of Life After a Retina Burn”.

I wish I were joking. 

This is just who she is. 

She feels it all & she sees the details when most can’t even begin to see the entire picture. 
She loves unconditionally & she worries about everyone…especially animals and special needs children.
A few weeks ago, she said, “Mom…I hope when I have a baby I have a baby with special needs.”
Y’all…this is the part of the story where I wish I could tell y’all how I quoted some appropriate scriptures to her & I told her what an honorable gift that would be & how amazing she would be under those circumstances. 
But, my mouth moved faster than my brain (imagine that!) and I tried in very loving terms to say something about being careful what you wish for.  
Go ahead & gasp. 

Be disappointed in my response. 

Look down & shake your head at my selfishness. 



Just be sure your answer would have been different first
She wasn’t having it. 

This is her dream

Her biggest heart’s desire.
And if anyone can handle & deserves a blessing like that, it’s that blonde-haired, 11-year-old angel. 
She has the purest of hearts. Anyone who has ever had more than minimal contact with her will wholeheartedly agree. She loves the unworthy  & comforts the needy & is drawn to the unloveable people.
So, when she came bounding down the stairs proclaiming how happy she was to not be blind, I wasn’t surprised at all…but in a split second I was overwhelmed by this thought: 

What would life be like if we got up each and every day proclaiming what we were thankful for rather than thinking of all the things that aren’t quite right. 
What if we just stopped focusing on the weather & the schedule & the bills & the “stuff” and we just looked for the blessings…really LOOKED for them.


They are there. 

And sometimes it’s as simple as just realizing you woke up not blind. 

And so there is that

Before you leave…

I held you when you took your first breaths. 
I fed you & clothed you & showed your beauty off to anyone who would look. 
I saw your first smile

I heard your first words

I memorized your laugh
I watched you learn to crawl, then walk, & eventually run. 
I witnessed you learning to read & write. 
I watched you grow strong & happy & healthy. 
I watched you suffer illness & pain & heartache. 
I have had a VIP pass and a front row seat to your whole life thus far. 
I have been your manager, your boss, your coach & your cheerleader. 
I have raised you to be strong & independent, and yet you have always allowed me the blessing of holding you up when you have been weak. 
I have loved you with my whole heart & you have loved me back. 
I have felt it
You have been my best friend & my strongest supporter. 
You have been my confidant & my biggest fan. 
I would know your laugh, your voice & the sound your feet make coming down the stairs apart from anyone else’s. 
I have prepared you to embrace adulthood & live a big, full life. 
And now, we are literally days from packing you up to start that life. 
I have loved you from your conception. I have always told you I would be here for you no matter what. I have always been, & always will be, right by your side in a moment’s notice. 
But now, before you leave, there are a few other things I want you to know. 
Do you know that I have needed you as much as you have needed me? That when you took your first breath, I inhaled differently…almost as if for the first time?? 

Do you know that when I fed you & clothed you, my soul was fed & my heart was wrapped in a blanket of love & contentment???
Do you know that now, all these years later, your smile fills my heart just as much as it did the first time I saw it??? 

Do you know that the sound of your voice, even when it’s frustrated or harsh or angry still makes me well up with all kinds of feelings??
Do you know how happy I am that I have memorized the sound of your laugh?? Do you know how often I do & will replay that sound in my mind when I am apart from you because it is one of the most beautiful sounds I have ever heard???  
Do you know that when I watched you crawl & then walk, all I wanted was to see you run???? Do you know that now, before you leave, all I can think about is how much I wish I could slow you down?
I need you to know that my love has always been, & always will be, unconditional
I will be here when you are strong & happy & healthy. 

I will hold you when you suffer illness & pain & heartache. 

 

I will always buy the VIP pass for the front row seat to your life & although I may no longer totally be your manager or your boss, I will always be your coach & your cheerleader. 
You will never be even one mile too far away from my love. 
You will never call at the wrong time or need me when it is inconvenient. You will never be alone. I will always be here. Maybe a little more in the background, but still always here. 
Be brave. 

Be confident. 

Have fun. 

Be smart. 

Do not ever settle for mediocrity

Do not ever allow someone’s disrespect or dislike for you to change the person you are. 

Not everyone will love you & that’s okay. 
Be you

Don’t imitate or copy others. 

You were born unique. 

Be that. 
I love you far beyond any of these words
Our worlds are about to change, but my love for you is constant. 
Dream. 

Love. 

Live. 

Go. 
You have my blessing for it all. 
I love you forever and beyond.
And so there is that. 

August


It’s August. 

It’s the last couple weeks of summer & this momma is feeling it. 
We have bought enough glue for slime recipes to keep Pandora’s Box locked up tight forever. My kids may never even know the actual real purpose for glue. Ever

We have replaced a certain leaky bicycle tire tube not once, but twice. 

We have hidden painted rocks…and found painted rocks…re-hidden painted rocks and found even MORE painted rocks. Yes, rocks. Those things filling the driveway that we have been walking around kicking out of the way for years. They are cool now, it seems. 


 We have all watched more Netflix than can possibly be safe for the psyche. Like seriously…who can watch tv all. day. long? My people can, that’s who

The littles have made a YouTube channel where they make stuff and open stuff and do stuff. Mostly make slime, I think. Go figure. Yes, I am aware it’s not safe for kids to be on the internet. No, I really don’t even care anymore because it’s August. 
The three middles schoolers have spent 97.4% of the summer arguing with each other. Pick a topic. They are not particular. 
“THAT’S MY SHIRT!”

“WHY DID YOU TAKE THE COMPUTER??? I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF AN EPISODE!”

“WHO ATE ALL THE CEREAL???”

“WHY ARE YOU SPITTING ON ME?”



The list is endless
I am fairly certain that just last night I uttered the words, “I am so tired of hearing their voices. I need my own house.” Yes…I said those words out loud (but out of earshot, so that’s better, right???)



We attempted to be THAT family. We made a trip to the library and got the summer reading chart and checked out books.

We then returned them late, one with severe water damage from a dip in the pool. I seriously could’ve bought all the books we checked out for cheaper than all the fines I owe. The charts never got completed. I know you are shocked. 



Last week, the girls started looking for their Summer Work packets. You know, the ones they send home crammed in the kids’ book bags at the end of the year along with every art project they ever did, 12 tons of loose paperwork, and all the stuff you’ve been missing from home all school year. (“So that’s where all the scissors went”). The packets they worked diligently on the first week school was out, and then misplaced for the rest of the summer. The packets that are supposed to be turned in when school starts back IN JUST A FEW WEEKS. Yeah, those packets. 



School is just around the proverbial corner. The stores have had school supplies out for weeks & every time I walk past them I feel like a terrible mother for not buying my kids Post-It notes in every color & erasers shaped like hot dogs. 

This summer has been extremely hot. I have said “Close the front door!” 3,455,765 times...I stopped saying please in mid-June
My people have consumed a gallon of tea a day, 2 gallons of milk a week, used every dish in the house twice a day, left crumbs & food particles on the counters after every trip through the kitchen, & still can’t remember to see if the dishwasher is accepting dirty dishes before just leaving them wherever. Just feel free to leave them anywhere in the house you like, small people that I birthed. I don’t mind walking around the house like a busboy all day every day stopping science experiments from growing in your cups & bowls. 



I have lowered the bar of expectation so far it’s now a step stool. 



And with school starting in literally DAYS, my most predominant thought is this:
I miss them already
In just a few short weeks we will all get back to a schedule. There will be no more sleeping until noon or eating cereal at 2 in the afternoon just because. 

We will be back to early mornings & homework & sports practices & PTO nights & so much other stuff. 

The eldest boy will be starting his senior year of college & I will be forced to resort to face-timing my eldest princess who somehow will have convinced someone she IS OLD ENOUGH FOR COLLEGE!


The littles & I will pass each other in the kitchen like zombies & mumble something about signed forms & lunch money & have you seen my fill-in-the-blank.
And another year will pass & they will grow older & be home less & begin to stare at phone screens rather than look into my eyes.
These days don’t come back, mommas
Celebrate the last of summer. 

Take the too-late trip to McDonald’s for ice cream. 

Watch too much tv & eat too many sweets & peek around the corner & watch your kids play. 

Too soon it’ll be routines again. 

Let’s fill these last days with enough memories to get us all through until at least Christmas break. 

Then, we can start planning ways to hide from them again. 

And so there is that
.

Dear dryer sheet,


Dear dryer sheet,

I am sorry.

So very sorry.

All these years, in an effort to save money, I have ignored you. 

I have walked past you in the store aisle without hesitation.

I never once slowed down to give you even a second glance.

I would see you out of the corner of my eye & I would pretend you didn’t exist. I knew I could live without you, so that’s exactly what I did. 

For all of that, I am sorry

I am sorry that it took a box of you coming home from my college son’s apartment to bring us together. 

I had no idea the joy you would add to my life.  

I had no way of knowing that I would instantly feel like a better wife, mother, and   homemaker just by the fresh  smell you gave off. 

I didn’t understand the softness you would bring to my towels & my sheets & my clothes & my heart. 

Yes, my heart

I am more pleasant doing laundry with you around. 

I am more at peace & more joyful doing even a mundane task that I literally do every single day of the year. 

You make laundry bearable

I’m sorry I resisted your cute commercials & I’m sorry I ignored your coupons. I knew they were there...I just chose to look the other way. 

I am thankful for the relationship we have today. I am thankful for second chances. I promise to value your place in my laundry process  & I vow to never let a day go by without appreciating your effectiveness & worth. 

Thank you for not giving me any static over how long it took me to come to you. 

I am forever grateful. 

And so there is that…