I was going through some bins the other day and came across this letter I wrote to my husband when my boys were ages 6 and 3. And as I read it, it came back to me how hard it was to manage everything - working, taking care of the kids, keeping the house clean.
My boys are now older, but moms of young kids? I haven't forgotten.
Now that my kids are older, I have the ability to look back and realize there are a few things I completely stressed out about when they were younger that, in retrospect, I probably shouldn't have. These are the things that pretty much every new parent stresses about. Things that you may be stressing about right this very second.
Make sure you yell at your kids to play/work harder. Like, really loud. Also, be sure to yell at them when they make a bad play or aren’t doing something properly. They probably don’t realize they’ve made a mistake, so it’s up to you to point it out. Loudly.
Note: Sometimes your kids are working so hard they can’t hear you, so it’s important you yell louder.
I remember when my kids were small and I knew every aspect of their life, 24/7. I also remember wanting a break, needing time away to recharge and reconnect with myself.
Oh, irony. How you mess with me.
Because now, my kids are older and I’m fighting to stay connected with them.
I have two amazing boys. They are bright, funny, caring, unique, creative...and so many other positive adjectives that I could bore you to death for hours with descriptions.
They are also the ultimate score keepers.
“Why do I have to do it? I did it last time.” “How come you bought something for him and not me?” “You went to more of his practices than mine.” “Why does he get a new backpack?”
It's no secret that back to school has been a bit FUBAR in our house with me dropping the ball, or at least my eyes, at the most inopportune moment in the history of inopportune moments.
But finally, we've had success. Not "this is all completely fixed" success, but a "baby steps with gripping hugs and tears in the eyes but not spilling over the cheeks" success.
That's pretty much been my parenting tagline since day one. You get pregnant and carry this life around inside you for nine months (arguably, ten) and by the end you're tired and just want the baby the hell out of your body so you can bend at the waist again. Only it's when the baby comes out you realize the hard part has just begun.
I feel his palm warm against my skin, a slight movement of his fingers as his hand finally settles. Tired, I only want to sleep, impatient and silently praying for him to eat quickly so I can go back to bed. The memory is now barely there, the act of his hand grabbing onto my arm as I feed him lost, unappreciated in its simplicity.
It pains me to look back at the moments I let go by without a second glance not understanding how the passing of time is a mirage with seemingly no end in sight.
It was my birthday on Monday and as always, my husband kids were spectacular, spoiling me rotten with thoughtful gifts and homemade cards. Son No. 1 and Son No. 2 have the amazing ability to pick out the perfect gift for someone. Both Paul and I have come to depend on them for gift ideas because *that's* how good they are. It was Son No. 1 and Son No. 2 who came up with the idea to get Paul a bike for his birthday so we could go on family rides together. And it was Son No.
