You know, mom awesome.
Where you have awesome plans and you make it through each one with awesome-like finesse and ALL your kids basically think you hung the blessed moon. But then today happened. AND PBBBBLT.
Where mom-fails outnumbered my mom-plans and I lost my mom “stuff” all over the place and I am fairly certain the kids are interviewing for my replacement as we speak. There also *may* have been a twenty minute interval where I was “looking” for a lost toy underneath my bed. And I *might* have also downed a bag of Ritz Chips like it was my last freaking meal after I “failed” to find said toy.
So. Not. Awesome.
And then there were the water balloons.
Sweet heavens, the water balloons.
The last-ditch effort at redeeming myself from hiding under the bed and binging on golden deliciousness.
Just a little unthinking, “Hey, it’s unholy hot out there, so what’s more fun than pulling out the water balloons that have laid dormant all summer, kiddos?” I mean I talked it UP! Only to find out that the reason we got a water balloon sling and 30 water balloons for a total of $3 was because the balloons are total CRUD.
It was only after attempting to fill and breaking EVERY BLESSED ONE that the tears, the wailing, the hysteria reached critical levels. And that was just me. Forget about the children.
Finally, I just yelled, “HERE’S A SPRINKLER…JUST RUN THROUGH IT!!!!!!!!!”
Again. Not. Awesome.
Maybe I tried too hard. Okay, okay, I tried too hard. But I suppose that’s part and parcel of this whole illness deal.
Every day that your kids are with you is supposed to be like Mary Poppins because what if tomorrow you are praying to the toilet or laying in bed (not under the bed) all blessed day?
But mamas, life isn’t always magical. Even here. In a place where we get that every day is precious.
Yes, even here.
It is not always precious.
It is a holy hoot of a mess.
But it is at the end of these not-so-awesome days, where I am utterly human and need a whole heap of Jesus that I get a picture into something entirely worth it.
Be it snuggling up to my 9-year-old, holding her close and saying, “Hey, you know you are the best thing I’ve ever done, right? Or having my son tell me jokes as he heads off to bed with a “You’re my best, mom!” Or climbing into my Sophie’s lower bunk and saying, “I’m sorry for being a grump.” And holding her close as she answers back, “I am sorry I was SO mean, Mom.”
For every mom-fail. For every busted-up plan. For every time you lose your mom-stuff.
There is forgiveness and bedtime and chocolate and the sweet, new-morning coming.
So rest in that tonight, my mama sisters. (And maybe a bag of Ritz Chips.) Because at the end of the day, I know you meant to be awesome too.