To My Mom

Mother's Day obviously takes on a whole new meaning for me these days.  I got flowers made from Sassy's cut-out hand-prints, a plant that resembled KeKe's little handprint, a homemade cookbook, a magnet using Sassy's school picture, a little fill-in-the-blank book about the hats I wear. . .   Let's just say that Mrs. L, Sassy's teacher, is a Pinterest fan.  :)  I MUST remember to do some Daddy crafts in June!

I always stop to think of my own mom.  And the apologies I owe her.  :)  As I muddle through this thing called motherhood, I realize how hard it can be, how much it changes you, and now I finally get "it."  I get how much my own mother loves me, yet it took becoming a mom myself to truly see the world through her eyes.

So for Mother's Day (a little late), I have a few things I'm sorry for.  I'm sorry: 

1.  That I was such a picky eater.  Planning meals for picky children isn't fun.  This must be something that my mom takes great delight in seeing.  I know someday I'll hope the same fate on Sassy.  :) It's EXHAUSTING.  We don't cook any alternatives for our kids (they have what we make) but it's never a good sign when on Monday (we usually cook at the beginning of the week and plan on several nights of leftovers), Sassy says, "How many nights do we have to eat this?"  Oh honey, this is Night #1.  Gonna be a long week.  We have some recipes R and I LOVE that we don't even attempt anymore.  Then we find new ones that we think will be a hit only to hear complaining and whining and "I don't want any dessert tonight anyway."  I have no clue how my mom survived cooking for all of us.  I think she must have had some booze hidden in a cabinet behind the food that none of us would eat.  

2.  That you probably gave up way more than I'll ever know to give us what we wanted.  And not just food and clothes (though that alone amazes me--who can feed and clothe a brood like ours?)  My mom had kids at home for 30 years.  30 YEARS.  In that time, she chauffeured us everywhere.  We did sports, band, 4-H, FFA, summer ball, Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts (?), speech and drama, summer jobs.  Could we afford musical instruments?  Probably not.  Did she enjoy shuffling everyone around all the time?  I doubt it.  Did she ever tell us "no?"  No.  A few weeks ago, I had to get Sassy to a softball game and KeKe to a end-of-year daycare program.  At the SAME time.  And I was pulling my hair out trying to juggle it and figure out where to be.  And then I thought of Mom.  Who no doubt did it all the time without a minute to herself. 

3.  That I fought with my siblings.  I just threatened to send my children to summer school yesterday because of the fighting.  I can't imagine that it will get better with two teenage girls.  But again, that's just TWO.  I know that I didn't fight much with my sisters because they were so much younger (of course, they'd probably beg to differ!) but my brothers and I had more than our share of throw-downs.  And looking back, I can't believe Mom let us all live.  Maybe she just escaped to the kitchen and "cooked" with her stash in the cabinet. . .

4.  That I produced dirty laundry.  Yes, I know there's nothing to do about this, but again, I have no clue how you kept up with laundry.  Sassy has softball games on Tuesdays and Fridays.  There are several days in between to get her uniform washed.  And it's not like we have surprise games.  We have a schedule.  I know when the next game is.  And yet, more than once, it's been midnight the night before a game when I realize it's not clean, and these thoughts have crossed my mind:  "She doesn't stink yet.  How dirty can it be?"  But somehow she has grass stains or dirty knees, and it's to the wash we go.  I've been up many a night at an insane hour thinking of my mom and saying a little prayer of gratitude for all she did.  And wondering how she always got stains out. . .           

5.  That I didn't always appreciate what you did.  A few weekends ago, in the heat of the moment, Sassy declared, "She (that would be me) NEVER lets me do anything fun!"  Ouch.  It hurt.  And made me crazy mad.  I drive all over the country for softball because I can't figure out what else to do on a Friday night?  And then I stopped to wonder how many times I said something mean and hateful to my mom.  And how many times she just silently took it without lashing back.  How many times did I not appreciate all she did or break her heart with my words?  :(  R had to remind me that Sassy is a kid who just spouted off when I was being "mean."  I need to grow some thicker skin because the day may come when she thinks she hates me.  She can't possibly look through my adult eyes and realize how blessed she is.  That will come MUCH later when she's a mama and writing a blog to apologize to ME.  Hopefully at the same time, her kid is refusing to eat what she cooked for dinner and there's a dirty softball uniform somewhere. :) 

Personal Space

I've said that my mom often said, "Never say never."  Because of that, I've often said, "I'll never marry a millionaire."  But alas, I married R instead.  :)  Motherhood has made me eat many of the words I spoke in Life B.C. (Before Children.)  There are a few things though that we've stuck to.  We've never bought the stereotypical soccer mom mini-van.  (In fact, I think we're "downsizing" to a car soon.) We've never had kids sleep in our bed.  (Hotels and camping trips are a different story.)  We've never had to scoop poop out of the tub.  (And at this point, any booty that does will be promptly swatted.)  And until recently, I'd never slept with my kids in their beds at night.  

With Sassy,  I didn't want to start bad habits and send her into future therapy sessions.  So I followed all the "rules."  Like not sleeping with her.  And then Keke came along.  And from day one, she's been a cuddler.  I don't know if it's her personality or the fact that I spent the first few weeks of her life sleeping with her on the couch (so much for rules, huh?) but that little honey badger loves cuddles.       

And me. . . . not so much.  Don't get me wrong:  I love to love on my kids, but in general, it's just not something that's natural for me.  I like my space.  During a movie, I'm fine getting all cozy with my quilt and a bag of popcorn.  I don't need to have R's breath in my face or his foot touching mine as we fall asleep.  (Uggghh, move your foot!)  I think it's the oldest child syndrome.  You should see my younger sisters.  Grown women who STILL lay on my parents' couch together all wrapped up and entwined.  Disgusting.  I would make it about five seconds before declaring, "GET OFF ME."

But there's something about that Stinkus that ropes me in every time.

"Can you way wiff me for just a wittle bit?"

"Will you cuddle wiff me tonight?"

Or the worst:  "I can't seep wiff-out your wuvs!"

And I swear she knows how to make her eyes well up with tears.

I dare you to say "no" to that face. So I pull back her covers and somehow, she cuddles up close enough to me that there's room for the rest of our family in her twin bed.  She WANTS my breath in her face, our legs all entwined and her arms around my neck in a chokehold.  And I have to say, I love it.  I realize that I won't sleep with her forever, that there will come a day that she won't fit cuddled up to my chest anymore, that it's ok to spoil her a little bit.

And then I feel guilty that I've told Sassy "no" for almost seven years.  So I climb in with her one night.  We cuddle for a little bit and then she leans in, pats me on the cheek, and murmurs ever so sweetly, "OK Mom, you can go now."  

Ouch.  Keke, can I way wiff you for just a wittle bit?