All the difference

I don’t like playing with my kids. As awful as that sounds, it’s really not. I’m not saying I don’t ever play with them. It’s just that I don’t enjoy it. The horror, I know. But it’s the truth and it took me a long time to not let that guilt me. It’s almost like I don’t get it. The whole point of the playing, especially with boys toys. For example My son would like me to sit with him for hours and set up army men, and little forts, and stage the vehicles, and so on, only to literally drop a bomb and blow the whole scene up in .5 seconds. And then repeat. It’s not fun. 

I don’t want to crawl on the floor for some imaginary recon mission. I’ll build your fort but I don’t want to hide in it with you. I’ll draw pictures for you to color in, but for the love of all things artsy, do not ask me to share my markers. No you can not use the ones I bought for MY adult coloring books. And no I’m not ripping a page out of that book for you either. I like to color. And I like to watch you color. I also like to keep our creative time and space completely separate. 

Games. Glass of vodka and cards against humanity sounds delightful. Candy land, shoot me. Not really, I mean I’ll play it, but it’s agonizing for me. The kids cheat. They cry if you call them on it. They change the rules as they go so you have no chance of ever winning. And once is not good enough, no we have to “play” it 500 times. 500 boards of nonsense. Until I am absolutely bored out of my mind. 

I tell my kids several time a week, I made other humans to play with you. Bother them. Really it’s what they are here for, companionship. Now go forth and play... with each other. 

I used to think this was a major shortcoming on my part! Who doesn’t like to play with their kids?! I’m guessing more people than are actually admitting to it. It’s ok. Admit it. You hear that little voice whispering, play with me, and you cringe, and smile and you play because you suck if you don’t. And none of us wanna be the sucky, no fun, I don’t wanna play with you Mom. But I am her. And I finally accept that. I accept it because there are other areas that I excel.

So while I don’t love games (or even sports really), I will be my kids biggest cheerleader from now until they too are grey and old. This year in particular has been a rough one. Man oh man has having 3 kids in school left me feeling like I have met my match. Mom vs. school, and school is totally kicking my ass. Or is it? 

However many shortcomings i have owned in this Mom game, they have not defeated or defined me. But, here’s what has. I have always been my kids biggest fan, their number one supporter. At different times that has meant different things. For one kid it meant therapy to help him navigate this unfamiliar place where Mom can’t be there to hold his hand. It was telling him 1,000 times a day, whatever you need to get through this is what we are gonna do, and meaning it. For my older son it meant being a shoulder to cry on, and ear to listen, and a trust that he could tell me anything. It meant biting my tongue, and letting him make mistakes. It’s letting him see that we love with him through all the imperfect days. 

Sometimes it means taking a step back, and others it’s going all in. I will go to bat for these boys a thousand times, until they can knock it out of the park on their own. They know that. And that has made all the difference. They also know not to ask me to play clue, I f%#%^ng hate that game. 

All at once

I am tired. The kind of tired where you just wanna pull the covers over your head and sleep the day away. The kind of tired you experience after spending the week alone with your kids, two of which are sick, while your husband works in another state. The kind of tired that makes you feel guilty for feeling tired at all.

There is no time for tired, so the day starts like every other one this week. Three kids, pulling you in three different directions. Mom, MOM, mommy, MOM, ma, mommy, MMMMMOMMMMMM, ma, the out of tune chorus that sounds like cymbals clanging in my ears. I cringe and try to stay calm, but all I can think is when does it end?! 

Of course the answer is sooner than you want it to. Which for a moment makes me feels ashamed that was even a thought. How easy it is to forget that even these constant nagging little demands are a blessing. 

I know inevitably at some point I will miss these days. Well, not this particular day but you know what I mean. 

So often I wish that it wasn’t happening all at once. The good the bad, the joy the sad, the hard days and the ones you want to never end. It’s all happening at once, and it’s hard to know where one experience is starting and the other is ending. It’s overwhelming and almost disorienting. 

It’s the little things that make you pause. Like when your 4 year old stands up in the bath tub. That little body all covered in bubbles, leaves you breathless with wonder and sadness. Breathe in, how did something so beautiful and perfect come from me. Breathe out, when did he get so big. 

Caught in between counting the hours until bed time and wondering where the time went. Sometimes it feels like that last decade of these mothering years have been a blur of smiles and tears and find myself wishing that I never wished a second of it away. Because the best years, the time of my life is literally happening right now and i hate that even in knowing that it’s still sometimes hard to catch my breath and be as present as I’d want to be. 

My 3 babies, now growing boys. The oldest, too grown for comfort. He gives me glaring looks from the passenger seat (sigh) and mouths (STOP SINGING PLEASE) when his friends are riding with us. He no longer believes in Santa or gets filled with excitement when the toys r us Christmas book comes. Instead he surfs the net and looks for the latest fashion trends and begs for things beyond our budget. And I swear it all happened in a blink. I look at his changing face, not a hair out of place and my eyes fill with tears. I can barely see that chubby blue eyed babe he used to be. These bittersweet moments, one of too many (and more to come) make my heart ache. 

It’s a strange place to be, longing for the time when the weight of a baby in your arms felt like heaven while being completely wrapped up in the people they are growing into. Wanting them to hurry up and slow down, again all at once.