My Mother’s Day gift is this letter to you, my boys
To my sweet boys Maverick and Abel,
Maverick, you are 7, and Abel, you are 4. I am deep in the trenches of parenting you; of “mommin’ it hard” as I like to say to my friends. I am tired. Constantly.
Long ago I lost the ability to pee by myself or take a shower without interruption. I now relish waking up at the crack of dawn to have a quiet hour or two to myself, opportunities to hear myself think over a book and cup of coffee. I say things like: “Cut the attitude!” and “Those shoes give you room to grow.” I clean your faces with a finger I’ve wet with my spit. I am a real mom.
Being your mom is one of the greatest joys in my life. Sometimes when you sleep I come into your room and watch you. I watch you breathe. I watch your little bodies go up and down as you sleep in your beds and you look so peaceful. Little angels that came from my body. What a gift.
Some days this gift gets lost in the routine of life. Some days you yell, and some days I yell. Some days leaving the house to get to all the places we need to be in the morning feels like an Olympic event complete with sweat and tears. But we make it.
I want you to know on days that I am tired, I love you. On the days I don’t want…
