I am a mother.
I am “Mom.”
I am “Mommy.”
I am “Ma-Ma.”
I am “MOMMMMMMMMEEEEEEEE!!!”
I wear yoga pants all the time. But I don’t do yoga ever.
I wear running sneakers with my yoga pants. I don’t run, either.
My hair is covered by a baseball cap because 1) I haven’t had time to cover up my gray roots, or b) I haven’t had time to wash it yet today, or yesterday.
My nail polish is chipped, my bra and underwear don’t match, and I’m wearing my daughter’s socks with unicorns on them. That’s how I roll.
Other days, it’s jeans. But not “mom jeans” because even I know better than that.
I do dress up for the occasional date night with my husband, but I’d much rather wear my favorite sweats while curled up on our not-so-comfy couch watching reruns of Friends and Seinfeld, knowing my children are tucked in their beds just down the hall.
I am middle-aged, middle-class and middle of the road.
I am not the best housekeeper, but I keep an awesome home filled with love and laughter.
I do not like to cook, and I am not good at it. I wish I could change that, but know I won’t.
Boxes of frozen waffles fill my freezer, and there is white bread in my cupboard. Don’t judge me.
I currently have six loads of laundry to do, five loads to fold, and four loads to put away.
I am the official chauffer of the family minivan—The Golden Bus, as we call it—with seven stick figure stickers on the back window (eight, with the dog), the obligatory “my kid plays sports” magnet, Goldfish crumbs and empty water bottles on the floor, and 104K miles on it. It’s a sweet ride, if you don’t mind the smell and also the noise from the back.
I am imperfect. I say bad words. I lose my cool. Sometimes, I need a time-out.
I like to “pin” things, but I never actually make crafts. Pinterest sets the bar too high.
I binge-watched six seasons of Gossip Girl, five seasons of Breaking Bad and six seasons of Sons of Anarchy on Netflix. That was like four million hours of TV when I ignored my kids. I think I should get them each their own puppy.
My children are kind, and my husband and I lead by example. That makes me proud.
I am often inappropriate, and I laugh at things I shouldn’t sometimes.
I do not spend enough time watching the news or keeping up on current events. I do keep up with what is happening with my children. They are my worldly news. They are my world.
I often feel guilty about not spending enough time with my kids. Other times, I can’t wait to get away from them. And that’s OK.
Some days I don’t like my kids, but I love them every second of every day.
I am a best friend to my children. They are best friends to me. I pray this never changes.
I don’t ask my children for perfect grades, but I do expect them to try their best. If they try, and they fail, they don’t get punished—they get the help they need to do better.
I believe the punishment should fit the crime. Certainly don’t cry over spilled milk, but be prepared to shed some tears if you purposely hurt someone’s feelings and I find out about it. (Oh, and clean up the milk yourself please. I am your mother, not your maid.)
I referee arguments daily. Sometimes, I secretly root for one child over the other!
I respect my children. They respect me. This one is non-negotiable.
In my mid-30s, I wanted to go back to school to become a nurse, but life had other plans for me. Even so, my “magic kisses” and character Band-Aids can do wonders on little wounds.
I could never be a teacher, but admire the men and women who teach our children.
My schedule won’t allow for me to coach my children’s sports team, but I will be their biggest cheerleader. I will cheer like crazy for your child too.
It breaks my heart that I’m not a stay-at-home mom, but going to the office every day helps keep me sane.
I’m a storyteller, booger wiper, spider killer, toy finder, party planner, peacemaker, dream interpreter, homework helper and psychologist. I get paid in kisses. It’s totally worth it!
The kids spend too much time on their iPads. I spend too much time on my phone. We all need to work on that.
Sometimes, I am that mom. And that’s OK because we are all that mom at one time or another—even though we may not know it.
I am grateful.
I am blessed.
I am a mother.