good enough parent confession #3

there exists a phenomenon in our household.

i call it the mommy pile-on.

as in, whenever i am sitting, lying, or otherwise still, i have two little bodies trying to pile on top of me.  

this happens inside, outside, in a car, in a hammock, in a bed, on a bike, on the couch - 

you name it, they pile. 

as you know from my first confession, there is a part of me that treasures this.  

however, it is tough to provide single-minded attention to anyone when the affections are piled on.

out from under the little arms and legs, i see my husband standing at the periphery.  

his stance tentative, his view discerning - is this the time to join the pile or leave us bonding alone.

  "is there room for me?" he asks.

{the kids love to smother me in triplicate}

and this is fun.  it provides great validation. and meets a very deep need i have to be close.

but it has replaced a significant portion of time i would otherwise spend resting alone or entwined with my husband.  and sometimes, i miss that time.

 

every now and again, i decide i want my husband all to myself.

i curl up into his lap and as the littles descend toward us, i put my hand out to stop them.

"nope, this is my time with daddy', i say. "you are not invited."

last time i did this, they stood on the periphery and watched. a little dejected.  "it's not fair," they whine.

{add this to the list of reasons they will need therapy one day}

 "well, i fell in love with daddy first and sometimes i need that reminder."

a part of me feels bad about turning their affections away but

a part of me finds reassurance that i still need {& want} to choose my husband.

 

confession number three:

sometimes i reject my children's advances.

{outright}

in favor of being close with my husband. 

{first 2 photos are courtesy of www.margaretclairephotography.com}

ode* to my mother

Last year, around Mother's Day, I posted about what women want.

 Part of me wants to re-post it - because the truth hasn't changed. 

But this year, social media {Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest} and real-life conversations have been blowing up around snippets mothers have received from their littles in which kids are asked to fill-in-the-blank about their mother. 

For example:

My mother is __ years old
My mom weighs __ pounds

My mom always says __
My mom cooks the best __

My mom laughs when __

If my mom had more time, she would love to __

I love my mom because__

It reminds me of an article in which the author identifies memorable ways to interact with others: Compliment what you would never be expected to compliment

When someone shares the mad-lib style bits from their child, it is done with 

pride & appreciation & joy

To capture how a child sees his or her mother at a moment in time - before the child understands 

the realities of life {i am not sure any mother weighs 30 or 40 pounds} 

or

 the complexities of relationships {if only a mother's life was only spending time with her child(ren)} 

- is precious and compliments the unexpected. 

It is memorable.

As mothers {as humans} it is sometimes hard to see ourselves reflected in those around us 

{especially when we look around} 

so it is wonderful to have someone verbalize a reflection that unfiltered, unexpected, validating, and resonant.

So with that, to my mother:

I know you are old enough to have retired but you still come across as younger than your stated age.

I think you cook the best pizzas - always homemade, with wild and crazy toppings

I love to observe you laugh when you are feeling a little playful and/or mischievous

If you had more time, you would love to paint on a beach and play music and be in the presence of family.

You always say "what else would you have me do?" You are loyal to the core. I admire that.

I appreciate how you experience the world around you with all your senses: hands in the dirt, walking Mi-o-My or the beach, building fires, listening to music, painting images of what you see, tasting foods of all kinds 

{case in point:  you ate a bite of the worm Jo and I cooked in the microwave "for you,"}

or completing a puzzle with a glass of wine amidst burning candles.

Mommisita, 

I love you because you are my mother - without fail - and you have remained present/engaged as my identity evolves.

all the kiddos

*i know this is technically not an "ode", due to it's inaccurate format, but free-form-blog-post-to-my-mother didn't really sound cool.

be still and know

tonight the kids were asleep before snuggle time was over.

that doesn't happen {often}

tonight my husband is out playing soccer.

that happens a lot this time of year.

tonight my mind is quiet.

that doesn't happen {often}

i don't feel well, which might be part of it, but whatever the reason(s), i find myself in quiet.

 i am mindful of how my skin is a-fire with the swell of a creeping fever and 

at the edge of the kitchen,

i know there is a decision in this moment. 

i brace myself against the urge to maneuver toward the desk to tackle time-sensitive tasks 

{taking "advantage" of the quiet, of course}

and i set about making dinner, amidst silence.

 no podcast, no music, no phone calls or video chats, no distractions -

just the crisp rustling of the leaves in the breeze

and the occasional crescendo of cars passing on the pavement beyond the open window.

{silence}

except for the smooth and definitive sound of my knife blade on a carrot and

my mind remains quiet, except for the timeless and definitive comfort of a psalm.