I told my friend during yoga this morning that I was going to send out my go-to meals for entertaining . . . but then, well, I got distracted as usual.
So that's for tomorrow.
For today, I'm going to talk about being a mama.
I (John and I) have five children. Henry Grey, 19 (on a LDS mission in Calgary Canada speaking Mandarin Chinese--he'll be gone until July 2017), Phoebe Laine, 16 (Junior), Celia Bangs, 14 (9th grade), Piper Jane, 11 (precocious 5th grader), and Finnegan John, 9 in three days (tiny 3rd grader). They are my joy and my pain. My greatest achievement and sometimes my greatest failure. There is nothing like kiddos to humble and awe you. Sometimes it's all humble. Rarely it's awe. But when it is, I'm telling you, AWE is pretty much the only word I can describe it.
I'm not sure if it's genetics or my absent minded parenting, but my children are SUPER independent. They were making their own meals honestly when they were like 5. Finnegan, the said baby, can pretty much do anything he wants in the kitchen. Just ask Tessa (perhaps his favorite girl in the universe), he regularly makes her scrambled eggs, toasted cheese, and mac and cheese. And I'm pretty sure it's also due to my insane mama-bear complex. They NEVER tell me ANYTHING because they know I go slightly insane. If I find out something happened, they run over to me and say, MOM! IT'S FINE! Please pleasepleaseplease do not go talk to anyone about it.
Am I that bad? Uh, maybe?! . . .
It doesn't help that John is pretty much a micromanager too. So where I slack, he compensates a thousand times.
This all adds up to kids who generally get themselves up in the morning, do homework by themselves, and in overall take care of themselves or they take care of each other. I watch other mothers (my sisters are great examples of this) and see how close they are to their children. They call them for everything and just chat away. They know intimately what's going on in their lives. I, on the other hand, hear of my children's exploits from someone. Really. I don't know who they have crushes on (as if they'd tell me) and I'm not sure who their best friends are. I know the friends and where they live, but not what order they fall in my children's affections.
And, cringe, I am pretty ok with that.
I know, I'm honestly A HORRIBLE mom, but it works for me. (I'm putting money away for therapy, don't worry).
It's not like I don't ask them if they want me to be different. I do regularly.
Do you want me to ask you about your day more? Do you want me to come and rub your back at night (they always say yes to this, but I always conveniently forget that I ever offered--SEE horrible mama . . .)? Should I know who your best friends are and what boys you have crushes on? What can I do better? I'll try to be better . . .
And they, my offspring, just look at me and say, Mom, NO, we are fine! Please. We. Are. Fine!
And despite the fact that they might not be, I BELIEVE THEM!
So today, when Phoebe called me, I knew something was NOT ok. She's been sick for a week now (and she really NEVER gets sick--a little bit, but not really sick) and she cried to me on the phone about how discouraged she was with feeling so crappy. I talked with her as I drove home and then sat beside her and rubbed her head and made her drink a whole can of something filled with Caffeine (she had a migraine) while we talked about how everything was going to be ok. To breath in and out and in and out and that despite what she thought at that moment, she WAS better.
As I sat there, I thought, Oh, I feel sort of wonderful. I feel like a . . . MOTHER.
Sometimes, despite my children's best efforts, they still need a mama. And when they need her, I try really really hard to be there and try hard not to love it too much.
Tonight, each of my children, in their own way, made me feel my Mamahood.
As I was tucking Finnegan into his bed, he hugged me (he always hugs me so long I honestly stop breathing and I love every second of it) and told me, If anyone says they have a better mother than you, they're not telling the truth! You're the best mother EVER! (Poor boy, he doesn't even know . . .) and then he said loudly, "Thank you God for letting me be Mom and Dad's child!"
And Celia let me rub her back as she was sitting next to me during Family Home Evening and she made dinner with me and did her job without me yelling. And she let me hug her. Well, she hugs me and puts her chin on my head but still . . .
And Piper, sweet loud hormonal Piper, screamed and screamed and growled as John yelled "genitalia" in her general direction (why?) as we talked to her about maturation (she's completely clueless and WANTS TO BE). Even sick Phoebe was crying laughing so hard from her "Hormones, People! I've got raging hormones inside my tiny short body!" But even then, she also came into the kitchen and said, Mom, can I make that white sauce with you? And stayed the whole time and helped over and over again without me having to ask twice. Miraculous. Totally miraculous. Awe moment.
And even though I forgot to write Henry, he kept sending little short emails, Hi Mamamamamamamamamamamam! Until I remember what time it is and quickly wrote him a short newsy letter that I put all my absentminded-mama-ness love into and I read his love for me in his wild words in response. Mondays are my favorite days EVER.
Because even though I'm not so good at keeping up on the daily grind, I'm totally in love with them. Each one of my totally independent children. And I think, despite my space-cadet parenting, they know it.
And I guess, that's the most importantest thing of all--love. Crazy huge stupid LOVE.
So that's for tomorrow.
For today, I'm going to talk about being a mama.
I (John and I) have five children. Henry Grey, 19 (on a LDS mission in Calgary Canada speaking Mandarin Chinese--he'll be gone until July 2017), Phoebe Laine, 16 (Junior), Celia Bangs, 14 (9th grade), Piper Jane, 11 (precocious 5th grader), and Finnegan John, 9 in three days (tiny 3rd grader). They are my joy and my pain. My greatest achievement and sometimes my greatest failure. There is nothing like kiddos to humble and awe you. Sometimes it's all humble. Rarely it's awe. But when it is, I'm telling you, AWE is pretty much the only word I can describe it.
I'm not sure if it's genetics or my absent minded parenting, but my children are SUPER independent. They were making their own meals honestly when they were like 5. Finnegan, the said baby, can pretty much do anything he wants in the kitchen. Just ask Tessa (perhaps his favorite girl in the universe), he regularly makes her scrambled eggs, toasted cheese, and mac and cheese. And I'm pretty sure it's also due to my insane mama-bear complex. They NEVER tell me ANYTHING because they know I go slightly insane. If I find out something happened, they run over to me and say, MOM! IT'S FINE! Please pleasepleaseplease do not go talk to anyone about it.
Am I that bad? Uh, maybe?! . . .
It doesn't help that John is pretty much a micromanager too. So where I slack, he compensates a thousand times.
This all adds up to kids who generally get themselves up in the morning, do homework by themselves, and in overall take care of themselves or they take care of each other. I watch other mothers (my sisters are great examples of this) and see how close they are to their children. They call them for everything and just chat away. They know intimately what's going on in their lives. I, on the other hand, hear of my children's exploits from someone. Really. I don't know who they have crushes on (as if they'd tell me) and I'm not sure who their best friends are. I know the friends and where they live, but not what order they fall in my children's affections.
And, cringe, I am pretty ok with that.
I know, I'm honestly A HORRIBLE mom, but it works for me. (I'm putting money away for therapy, don't worry).
It's not like I don't ask them if they want me to be different. I do regularly.
Do you want me to ask you about your day more? Do you want me to come and rub your back at night (they always say yes to this, but I always conveniently forget that I ever offered--SEE horrible mama . . .)? Should I know who your best friends are and what boys you have crushes on? What can I do better? I'll try to be better . . .
And they, my offspring, just look at me and say, Mom, NO, we are fine! Please. We. Are. Fine!
And despite the fact that they might not be, I BELIEVE THEM!
So today, when Phoebe called me, I knew something was NOT ok. She's been sick for a week now (and she really NEVER gets sick--a little bit, but not really sick) and she cried to me on the phone about how discouraged she was with feeling so crappy. I talked with her as I drove home and then sat beside her and rubbed her head and made her drink a whole can of something filled with Caffeine (she had a migraine) while we talked about how everything was going to be ok. To breath in and out and in and out and that despite what she thought at that moment, she WAS better.
As I sat there, I thought, Oh, I feel sort of wonderful. I feel like a . . . MOTHER.
Sometimes, despite my children's best efforts, they still need a mama. And when they need her, I try really really hard to be there and try hard not to love it too much.
Tonight, each of my children, in their own way, made me feel my Mamahood.
As I was tucking Finnegan into his bed, he hugged me (he always hugs me so long I honestly stop breathing and I love every second of it) and told me, If anyone says they have a better mother than you, they're not telling the truth! You're the best mother EVER! (Poor boy, he doesn't even know . . .) and then he said loudly, "Thank you God for letting me be Mom and Dad's child!"
And Celia let me rub her back as she was sitting next to me during Family Home Evening and she made dinner with me and did her job without me yelling. And she let me hug her. Well, she hugs me and puts her chin on my head but still . . .
And Piper, sweet loud hormonal Piper, screamed and screamed and growled as John yelled "genitalia" in her general direction (why?) as we talked to her about maturation (she's completely clueless and WANTS TO BE). Even sick Phoebe was crying laughing so hard from her "Hormones, People! I've got raging hormones inside my tiny short body!" But even then, she also came into the kitchen and said, Mom, can I make that white sauce with you? And stayed the whole time and helped over and over again without me having to ask twice. Miraculous. Totally miraculous. Awe moment.
And even though I forgot to write Henry, he kept sending little short emails, Hi Mamamamamamamamamamamam! Until I remember what time it is and quickly wrote him a short newsy letter that I put all my absentminded-mama-ness love into and I read his love for me in his wild words in response. Mondays are my favorite days EVER.
Because even though I'm not so good at keeping up on the daily grind, I'm totally in love with them. Each one of my totally independent children. And I think, despite my space-cadet parenting, they know it.
And I guess, that's the most importantest thing of all--love. Crazy huge stupid LOVE.
I can so relate to this post! I was not crying when my son left on his mission I was clapping! i was so happy to get him started on his experience. My love and mother is so good that when I walk in the door from exercising and they are getting ready for school I shout for all to hear "Who loves me?" They then lovingly yell back "Me!!" However, sometimes it is mumbled or even delayed. It shows all the true love of an eternal family - right? I started this tradition because I noticed that they didn't tell me they loved me very often . . like I noticed other kids - maybe it was because I didn't tell them very often. But I love them immensely and they know it by my actions. Love comes in all forms!
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