I sat huddled in a chair in the corner of a play place immersed in a book, interspersed with french fries and pleas with the children to go play. I showered and dressed that day, of course. I even wore make-up. My hair hung limply in its usual pony tail. My outfit, my Mommy gear, T-shirt and jeans, finished off my ensemble.
The children. There were three or four of them, I don’t really recall exactly. I had given up that day on any sense of matching. The girls wore ponytails that were now askew, outfits adorned with stripes and polka dots. The boy’s hair had been combed yesterday.
She walked in and I tried to hide, hoping she wouldn’t recognize me. Her perfectly coiffed hair matched her gorgeous outfit. Her girls also wearing matching outfits, hair in perfect place. We chit chatted until I gathered my wild brood and left.
Wondering. How in the world was she so put together? How did she get her children out the door looking like that? I didn’t judge her, I envied her.
There had to be other mothers whose experience in parenting included wearing snot as an accessory. There must be other mothers who had completely given up on matching outfits in order to maintain some sort of sanity. There MUST be others whose children write on walls and use dry erase markers to decorate the carpet.
But I kept seeing these women. They were everywhere. And I was nothing like them. I managed to get out of bed every day, shower and dress and sometimes we even ate organized meals.
Writing. At first it was mostly my Mom and my sister laughing at our shenanigans, commiserating. But after a bit, I began branching out and discovering that there was a whole world out there with Moms just like me. Mothers who didn’t pretend to have it all figured out. Mothers whose kids might possibly have even driven them crazy from time to time.
I began to breathe a sigh of relief and let go of my inhibitions and embrace who I am as a Mom. At the same time, I began seeing the Moms around me in a different light as well.
I am not that Mom with perfectly coiffed children. I am totally and completely comfortable with that now. I still envy those who are able to make it out the door looking put together with any sense of fashion, but I have learned that even those Moms have imperfections. I bet they might even have a child who never, ever puts their shoes away. Like, ever.
Sometimes, after all these years, I think I may run out of things to say, things to write about. But the grand thing about this adventure in parenting is that six years later, the children provide ample opportunities for new content.
Some things are the same. I still have wall writers, they are just different children, following in the footsteps of their older siblings. I have one left to potty train. (It may never happen, by the way.) My 4 year old can never find her shoes and has gone to church without them countless times.
Today, on my 6 year blogiversary, I celebrate. I celebrate the Mother hiding in the corner of the play place. I celebrate the lack of shoes, the chaos, the crazy, the thing that is Motherhood.
I celebrate my journey to become the Mom and the writer that I am today. I celebrate all kinds of Mothers, truly understanding that we are all different, yet bonded together by the experience of Motherhood. (Potty training bonds women together like nothing else ever will.)
In honor of my six years, I offer you some of my all-time favorite posts. Some of them are from my early days and desperately need editing…and pictures, but I will share them with you anyway.
Thank you for reading.
Where it all began.