Worst day ever. Worst day ever. Worst day ever.
That’s the chant from my five year old. Yep, that. I don’t feel too awesome.
He’s sitting on the couch and has decided that this morning his mantra is about how today is the worst day ever because I wouldn’t budge on the no popsicle rule until 11am rule that I just established this morning. I should have known yesterday that the four bulging boxes of popsicles that I put in my cart at Target would eventually cause angst in my motherhood routine. I’m a sucker for those buy three get one free kind of deals. Or the two is cheaper. Any of that. Makes me feel like a couponer. Which I am the farthest thing from.
Mom. Mom. Mom.
Can I have some strawberries?
The questioning continues.
Can I have this? Is it popsicle time? Mom? Can I use the computer?
Mom? Mom? Are you listening?
The truth is that at this moment I just wanted to sit on my front porch, sip my coffee, and just be.
There is so little just being in motherhood.
There is so much constant giving.
This crazy mind is always rolling type of giving. Then there’s the worrying – are they getting enough interaction? Will they do well in school? How can I afford all the new things they need? Why are they fighting again? and on and on and on. Then there’s the stuff about self – am I good mom? Am I doing enough? When will I get free time? and on and on and on again. Then there’s the stuff about simply living – how to pay the bills? When will I get the laundry done? and on and on and on again and again.
It can leave me exhausted.
Sometimes I feel lost in a world of busy and worrying and wondering.
I feel like I give and love and work and give and love over and over again and at the end of the day I look and think what in the world did I do? And why? Especially when I wake and hear worst day ever over something silly like popsicles.
I think deep down we all want to feel important and valued. We want the thanks for picking up popsicles at the grocery store. Or thanks for doing the laundry. Or for working so hard. We want those little and midsize and old creatures that call us mom to be gushing with thanks. Like that’s my mom! She’s awesome! She cuts my sandwiches into triangles and packs my lunch and when I come home my bed is made!
But haha – they’re kids.
They’ll let us know if we cut the sandwich in squares and will put the half empty juice box back in the lunch bag which will create the grossest sticky mess and when they get home they’ll pull that comforter on their made bed on the ground and make a fort.
Those things don’t really matter to them. We all know it.
That’s probably good.
You know why?
Because we show up for them.
We show up for them every single morning when we want to hit snooze for the fourth time and we roll ourselves out of that bed. We show up for them when we make those sandwiches. Or when we go through the gigantic stack of papers that comes home every Friday from school. We show up in so many behind the scene ways that they may never see.
But even though they are not seen does not mean it does not matter.
All those behind the scene crazy stuff that we do?
Honestly. It matters. Scraping junk out of water bottles that they put juice in. Picking nits out of heads. Folding teeshirts and putting them in drawers knowing that they are going to rummage through them in the morning. Sitting at the urgent care and dropping everything when they need us. Reading stories, even if it is just one. It just all matters.
So listen to me. If you’ve had those moments where you just want to yell does it matter folks? or am I just going crazy trying to do all this mom stuff so you don’t even know nor care?
Well, let me be the one to tell you yes, it matters.
They may chant worst day ever or fight over strawberries or get really really mad at you and the rules. And that’s okay. Because that is exactly what showing up means.
It means fighting when we’re exhausted. Loving when we’re at the breaking point. Giving to ourselves before we forget ourselves. Making dinners, vacuuming stairs and driving driving driving.
So, mom (or dad) reading these words of mine, I just want you to know that I get the giving. I get that there’s not much sitting. I get the crying and the toddlers and the hard days and the good days and the changes and the school and the relationships and I understand. An din that understanding I want you to stop for a moment and remember this.
You show up.
And they love you.
They just don’t know how much you show up but yet yet you’re their mom.
The one they want in the middle of the night. The one they text when they’re at college. The one who makes them follow the rules and yet the rules are good. The one in the carpool line. The one teaching how to tie shoes. The one showing up.
Every single day.
Even on the days when you want to throw in the towel.
You show up.
And I guess, well, then, that makes you awesome.