I woke up. In the middle of my deep desire to hit the snooze button on my life, I realized I was telling lies again.
I’ve been declaring, “No, I do not want to race cars. No I don’t want to make another Playdoh bird, nor do I wish to make fifteen eggs for the bird. I don’t want to build a Lego cow. I don’t want to wipe any more noses or change any more diapers. I defiantly don’t want to hear any more crying babies at 2 a.m.”
Except that I do want that stuff.
I want all those things.
I want to be the one who sorts out who’s turn it is for sitting in the front of the tub, I want to spend my days deciphering directions for a Lego helicopter.
I want to change my shirt four times in one morning because people keep spitting up/wiping their nose on me.
I want to drive a minivan full of crumbs and solitary socks.
I want to find week old bits of string cheese in the bathroom…um…sort of.
I want to trip over matchbox cars in the dark.
I want to tell my children elaborate, ridiculously long stories about mice who have guns.
I want to explain why rattlesnakes shake their tales and I want to go to the zoo.
I want to get friendly stares from old people at Target, and I want to get unsolicited parenting advice from them.
I want to hug my sons when they are disappointed and hand out band aids when they are hurt.
I want to sleep less and hold babies in the dark.
I want to be a mother.
I just forget it sometimes, what I want to be.
I’m living the dream, baby. Living. The. Dream. This dream just requires lots of coffee, and the patience of Mother Teresa, and a heavy dependence on the Almighty, and the ability to silence the selfish parts that try to sabotage the fun parts of parenting.
Isn’t it funny how you can be doing exactly what you want to be doing and still wish you were doing something else?
|(Side note: when you’re supposed to be asleep it’s always fun to stand on your bed and pretend you’re a Captain of Something. Thanks Jodi, I blame you for this one.)|