Mother’s Day is upon us, my friends.
We will sob and cry at sappy ads and Facebook videos. We will force perfect pictures of not-so-perfect people. We will brunch with babies losing their ever-loving stuff all over the place.
We will try. Lord help us, we will try. To hold onto the hope that someday, somehow, we’ll all get it right.
I’ll admit, I am at a loss.
The only thing I can really offer you is my Monday.
A day I am struggling to remember save one tiny (or not so tiny) detail.
When after a day of mom-fails and pure ridiculousness, I entered our local grocery store none-the-wiser to wander around aisles and forget things only to go back to the same aisles. In other words, I was all over that precious store for a grand total 5 items.
And then it happened. After a brief run through the self-checkout, Lord help me, it HAPPENED.
The sweet girl behind the kiosk pulls me aside and says, “Ma’am, your shirt.”
I assumed she wanted to read it. I mean, y’all, it said, I love you more than coffee…well almost. So I smoothed it out so she could see all the words?!?!?!?!?!?!?
Instead, she leaned in again, “No, ma’am. The back. I think it supposed to hang down? Maybe???”
I turned to survey the damage. I say damage because every woman in the world knows that the pants industry has certifiably failed us. Not one blessed pair stays up.
So there it was. The horrifying truth that I had half-mooned my grocery store in front of, er behind, me. Suddenly, I began to panic.
Do I go apologize to everyone in the store? Do I buy them moon pies? Or do I hand out eclipse glasses so they are safe the next time????
I mean, seriously, no potty-training, preteen-angst, how-to-raise-the-perfect-kid book covered this scenario. Mom is so tired she moons a grocery store. Where is that book, I ask you?
I snapped back to reality when I realized the plight of the poor woman standing in front of me so I said a quick, “Thank you. That was so kind.” When let’s face it, she probably could have really used eclipse glasses, a box of moon pies and a transfer.
But it was all I had to give.
So I went directly to my car and devoured my kid’s Hot Tamales. No really, I did. Mother of the Year, I am never.
And that’s why I am willing to share this mortifying, albeit snort-worthy story.
You are going to hear a lot of words thrown around this week.
Super-Hero. Great. Loved. Strong. Caring. Beautiful.
But do you know what heroic really looks like?
It’s bags-under-the-eyes, never-giving-up, hot-tamale-downing, pants-failing, moon-pie-buying, I’m-going-to-love-you-even-when-you-hate-me commitment to put one tired foot in front of the other and get up the next day and do it all over again.
So remember that in the trying.
When the pictures are a disaster and the brunch is a dumpster fire and you are missing the one person that should be there but isn’t.
Remember that beauty can be broken too.
Because it’s love and it deserves to celebrated. One messy, mooning step at a time.