All tagged mother is a verb
I was kid free and headache free (miracle) for 3 days all whilst drinking champagne at daylight and all the gimlets at dusk. If you know my history with headaches and anxiety and more or less stress, then you know I’ve taken it in a landslide, for years. This weekend, nada. Not one worry, one headache, one tense pair of shoulders. Nothing. If you can see below this image of me, I’m pretty much a pile of happiness laying in the sand. Hey mama, this mother’s day, buy your mama something special. And then buy yourself a weekend with your friends. And then some.
I’m not sure if I heard this on the podcast or on the Breńe Brown Netflix special the other night. Either way, download both. Breńe Brown is brilliant. And clearly has a way with words. Like profound. Literally, she researches all the things we’re too busy and quite honestly, too vulnerable to research. Things like vulnerability. And shame. And it’s funny, once you hear her evaluate these terms in the most adolescent conversational form, everything you thought you knew about life, seems less difficult. Less painful. It makes sense. In other words, she makes it easy for you by conjuring up truth and speaking it straight to your face. And then she says things like this: “Enjoy that sweet spot when your kids are little and your parents are healthy.” Sigh. And then you go and cry a puddle of tears on the bathroom floor. At least that’s what I did.
It’s getting close to Mother’s day. Not like tomorrow, but kinda. And I miss my Mom. Also, in case you’re wondering, yes, I still consider myself youthful. I’m not middle aged and I will arm wrestle you just to prove it. Anyway, I just came across this image of my girl. My baby. Who’s now almost 8. Who hugged me tonight and said “you’re such a good Mom and you’re doing great.” Yep, my baby. All of a sudden I’m totally confused. No, I’m not uneducated, I do fully understand the concept of time. But why does it riddle us so incredibly well? I look at her face, her dimples, her hair, her arms, her baby teeth, and I’m taken back to our old house. To the rainy days when we would walk our driveway and pick spring flowers in her new rain boots. To another place and time. To me relenting to myself out loud over and over and over again, those were the days. And as I’m currently playing “scary monster” to my twin boys in the bonus room of our current home, I glance at the image one more time and I correct myself. “These are the days.” My eyes begin to well up with expected tears as I prepare another ‘scare’ for my boys who are patiently waiting for mommy to get her shit together and wipe her tears. My oldest twin says “Mommy crying?” I say “Mommy is happy. I love you.” He smiles and we play monsters on a Monday.