I know it feels just normal. Like it’s the same thing. Again and again and again. Like it’s not making a difference. Like the hours awake and asleep and in between are just moments of time ticking by and the kids grow.
For instance, this was my morning.
I made breakfast. Four times.
I helped with brushing of teeth.
I mediated a dispute over whose turn it was to play with a certain lego character.
I told irritated brothers to not call each other names.
I finished cleaning the kitchen that I was too tired to clean last night.
I had a child tell me how mad they are at me because I told them to start their math.
I searched for matching socks, sent out emails, and pulled covers up on beds.
I checked out a bumped elbow from a child racing down the stairs once again too fast.
Normal. Every single day does it really make a difference? brave motherhood. It’s the motherhood story that we’re all living tucked underneath the racing busy life that we also live. It’s those little things that are hidden in the recesses of life that we just do and do and do. Sometimes I wonder how many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I’ve made or coats I’ve zipped or faces I’ve wiped or times I’ve said no or yes or maybe and if it all makes a differences.
Those, sweet mothers, are the moments of motherhood.
Day in and day out and day in and day out and day in and day out giving. It’s the never ending wash cycle on steroids. It’s of late nights and early early mornings and not much sleep inbetween while the four year old decides to sleep next to you with their feet in your back. It’s of doing hard hard things, things where your kids are mad at you and your heart aches, and yet you keep plodding forward.
It’s in working when you wish you could stay home or in staying home and wishing you could be working. It’s in driving here and there and back again and packing snacks for the times in the car. It’s in sitting on the sidelines and cheering your heart out and hoping that the ball gets kicked to your six year old. It’s in searching math solutions and helping with history reports and making science volcanoes that explode just because they love them so.
It’s in cold coffee left on the counter after you get caught in the frenzy of the busy. It’s in hair tucked behind your ears and laundry on the floor and six year olds wandering around telling you they have nothing to wear. It’s late nights spent sorting legos and toys and cards and wondering why you keep everything that is missing pieces. It’s in doctor’s calls and teacher visits and teaching mornings at the table.
It’s in picking them up when they fall and believing in them when they don’t believe in themselves.
It’s in picking yourself up when you fall and believing in yourself when you don’t believe in yourself.
It’s a journey. It’s a journey of courage. Bravery. Tenacity. Discovering strength.
A life filled with moments – moments of exhilaration, exasperation, joy, sadness, content, and a whole lot of normal. And sometimes, well most of the times, not the words of thanks.
There are moments with your hands in your head behind the bathroom door. Or in the car as you wait. At the desk. There are moments in the morning when the noise of the day has started and you’re wishing for just five minutes more of sleep and yet, yet you pull yourself up and keep going. There are moments where the multiplication tables become the battle of the night and not much else is done. There are moments on your knees looking those children of yours in their eyes and you telling them I believe in you.
Thank you brave moms.
Thank you, really.
Thank you for all those moments when you just gave of yourself for your family. Thank you for the hours spent doing the same thing over and over. Thank you for holding your head high and fighting. Thank you for the days and hours and minutes and seconds given. Thank you for your courage and bravery and willingness to laugh and cry and try again. Thank you for the little things that feel inconsequential but are really the most beautiful.
When people do amazing things they should be thanked.
Motherhood is amazing. No matter that it’s been around forever. Those are your kids. They have you. You right now. In their lives. They don’t care that mothers have been doing this forever. They care about you. The one who makes them macaroni and cheese, who slices apples and oranges, who is waiting for them in the car after ballet, who is the one reading them books, and is the perfect lap for those late night thunderstorms. They may not see your bravery, your boldness, your giving, but you know? You are their mother. You are the only person in this world that they have the honor of calling mom. And you matter to them. Even if you don’t feel it.
I know. They say silly things. They leave laundry on the floor. They don’t like dinner. They think you’re mean. They don’t like your rules. They don’t want to go to bed. They think curfews are silly. They spill milk and don’t tell you. They do all the stuff that kids do. But, they deep down love you. And they know how much you matter.
You are their mother. Not a little thing. Not something to be dismissed as something that’s always been around.
You are mom.
Be strong. Be brave. Be bold.
And thank you. I stand up and cheer you on.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
For it all. All of it.