and yes, I said, “you make things complicated.”

Not my finest moment in parenting. Not at all.

Wednesday was shaping up to be one of those busy days. Nothing terrible, no crisis at hand, house fairly clean and such. It was just one of those inevitable mom type days where my name was uttered every 2.7 seconds without much pause inbetween. And every “mom” cry was an “urgent” situation.

Where’s the mustard? I spilled my milk. I “accidentally” dumped dirt all over the grass. Samuel dumped out all the bubbles that you just bought! Can I go to the park? Where are the plastic bags? Could we play with water outside? What’s for lunch? I can’t find my shoes.

On and and on.

Till the point when he, make that Elijah, the precocious four year old pictured jumping above, the same one who had tried to escape our yard three times, dumped out his blocks, spilled his milk, threw a fit because he didn’t get enough chips, and was now irritated about his pants that I chose for him to wear because his previous pants had gotten very muddy again — at that point I, the weary mom blurted out, Elijah, you are making things so complicated.

He looked at me in surprise. There I was surrounded by a sea of assorted wood blocks and legos and holding a new pair of pants and a four year staring at me because I just told him he made stuff complicated.

I felt awful. Did I really think motherhood would be anything but complicated?

When, on that very sunny and warm March day, did I think that motherhood would run like a page out of a magazine? With children with stain free and trendy clothes? And perfect meals served right on time? Where the four year old wants to stay in the yard?  Because, for that moment, I did. And I became disgruntled and a bit overwhelmed with my spitfire of a four year old’s behavior.

Yes, he needs to learn boundaries. Yes, he needs to ask before he pours milk. Yes, he must play with blocks {and who, seriously, can play with them all dumped in a box?}. Yes, he needs to not want to change his pants 7 times a day because he “just” got in the mud again. But, more than that, he needs a mom who is willing to embrace him right where he is now.

Busy. Precocious. Fearless. Loving. Exploring. Tender. Energetic.

And that mother, simply must not define him as complicated. He’s not complicated. Motherhood is — and that, no matter how I try to fight, is to be expected. The more I realize that my days will be busy, exhausting, tiring, and still joyful then the less I will feel frustrated because I’m running after that 4 year old in the backyard who just wants to try out the neighbor’s swingset.

The swingset across the neighbor’s yard, and the next cul-de-sac and into the next neighbor’s yard.

Yes, he’s that fast.

Bottom line: that four year old of mine for all of his busy, exploring, not-listening perfectly, and wild behavior has a tender, loving, caring heart. I know. Just yesterday, as I was taking a short little cat-nap on the couch {I hadn’t quite fallen asleep}, that same Elijah went downstairs, grabbed an afghan, came upstairs, put it over me, tucked it up, gave me a kiss, and said, “I love you, mom.”

Without me asking.

He is not complicated. He is my son. And I love him just the amazing busy way he is right now.