Motherhood, Honestly

I've always wanted to be a mother. I seem to have an overwhelming drive to nurture. I used to daydream of my future children. My sisters and I had all sorts of unique and beauticious names picked out for them. I always figured I'd have lots of girls, and maybe a boy or two. I was quite sure I'd always have completely angelic children because I'd train them so perfectly, and they'd have snappy, prompt obedience. And by all means I would keep a spotless house. That was a no-brainer. However other moms-of-many could let their houses get so disturbingly disarrayed was beyond my imagination, especially since they had so many little helpers. And I'd always have a husband-pleasing meal ready at the end of the day.


Enter reality. Motherhood actually came to me at the ripe old age of 19. Actually, I was 20 til he was born. And I loved it. Such delightful little outfits and a sweet-smelling newborn and adoring little eyes and hands reaching for me. The dishes could wait a few minutes while I rocked a baby, and I'd catch up while he napped. And then number 2. How he loved to pitch things out the windows or down the toilets. Or dump the pancake syrup. But the boys would both nap, and I'd catch up with the mess. Then a few more years, and a couple of beautiful girls. How I love the little hair bows and frilly dresses. Teaching them how to rock a baby or bake cookies. But the pair of them can wreck a room faster than you can imagine as they pull out dress-up clothes and tea sets and doll babies and diaper bags of little clothes and Mama's shoes and some graham crackers for their party. Add in a couple more bouncing boys and my chaotic mix is complete. My days are delightful and yet dream-shattering all at once. Spotless house? Not so much. I'm pretty much in heaven if the dishes get washed every day, the floors swept every other, and bathrooms cleaned on the weekends. Angelic cherubs? Well, they are gorgeous enough but my flawless training hasn't happened. They do squabble at times. Scribble on walls. Spill Kool-Aid on the carpet. Forget to brush their teeth or finish their Math lesson. And shocker of all shockers: sometimes we just have hotdogs or french toast for supper!


But I *think* I'm coming to be okay with a different dream. It's been a journey ... one of giving up my reputation and some of my high ideals in order to really mother my offspring. They don't need a perfectly spotless house; they need a relaxed, peaceful home to grow and flourish in. They don't need to snap to attention at my word and fear the slightest misdeed; they need the security of knowing they can make mistakes and learn from them. They don't need a five-course meal 7 nights a week; they need a calm, non-stressed Mama who can let them be creative and put the supper on the table.


I know many times I fail. Sometimes in the midst of releasing my ultra-strict ideals, I fall into the other side of the ditch of too sloppy, too messy, too loose. Sometimes I expect too much of myself, or of my family. Sometimes I end the day in tears. But every day, I love being a mother.


Wow. Not quite sure where all of that came from. I was just planning to say that I love being a Mommy, and show off a few pictures of my sweet crew...

{Jo, age 10}

{Micah, age 8}

{Christi, age 5}

{Jenna, age 3}

{Taylor, age 2}

{Gabriel, 4 months}