Mother's Day

I've been thinking since last Sunday that I should write something poignant and touching about motherhood and all that my kids mean to me. Something sweetly funny about how - as I do my best to shape my kids into good human beings - they, seemingly without trying, have shaped me into a better person.

But the fact is, when you're stuck in the trenches and functioning on less sleep than you thought was humanly possible, it's hard to be philosophical.
I'm a mom who is trying to train for a half marathon in five weeks, at the same time I'm preparing for a garage sale in one week, while trying to squeeze in a freelance writing assignment that's due in three weeks. I have roughly four hours from the time I arrive home from work in the evening until I fall asleep (often unintentionally while snuggling with the kids at bedtime.) And last night I spent at least 45 minutes of that time in the bathroom, trying to convince a stubborn toddler that her tummy will feel better if she simply allows herself to poop.

Even if I had a deep thought, I'd forget it if I didn't immediately write it down.

I guess I should be grateful that my battle of wills with Sydney centers on bowel movements. In years to come, that power struggle will no doubt shift to boys and curfews and other expressions of independence.

Earlier in the week, during a similar struggle with Sydney over her bodily functions, AJ came bursting into the bathroom. I tried to tell him he needed to wait until Sydney and I were finished, but he excitedly interrupted me, presenting me with a purple viola he'd pulled from our garden, "Look Mom, it's the most beautiful flower in the world, and I picked it for you."

I couldn't ignore the irony of the moment. I was simultaneously changing a dirty diaper and being handed a lovingly plucked wild flower. Just like that, my children had managed to sum up the highs and lows of motherhood. No philosophical thinking required.