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Monday, January 13, 2014

The Type of Mom I Want to Be

I can picture her as clear as I can picture my mountain of laundry.

The type of mom I want to be.

She is patient.

So full of hope and awe and love that her skin radiates in the glow of it all.

She is not frazzled. Her voice doesn't raise. Her children... listen. They respect her. They want to do right by her. Her disappointment in them is the strongest punishment and once it is granted they wouldn't dare tempt their fate again.

She has time. She has time to play. On the floor. To put legos together. To put on Barbie's evening gown. To look at the clouds and the different shades of rocks that border the sidewalks path.

She is together. Hair washed, nails painted, clothes stylish. She doesn't lose herself in this journey of motherhood. She is there for her partner, rock for her children, knows herself and keeps it all thriving, joyous and constant. She is so balanced and awake that you feel more alive in her presence.

She isn't weighed down by the endless domestic tasks of life. She just keeps going forward. She is so unburdened that she practically floats. The happiness of her family is her adventure and reward. She makes this world better. Without effort she is an artist, a coach, a dancer, a chef, a dreamer, a friend. Giver of time in an unrelenting circle to make this planet better than she found it.
She is all things beautiful.

I was her. 

And then...

I had children. And then I had some more. I may still have pieces of this image of this mother but never actually all (or none) of these at the same time. I know what it feels like to have a baby that doesn't stop crying, a toddler that hangs from chandeliers, a preschooler that lets go of your hand in the street, a child with anxiety and what it feels like to be asked questions again and again and again. I haven't completed a full thought in a decade and I don't remember what it feels like to sleep uninterrupted through the night. Imperfection and survival are what I excel at try to excel at.

So I hold onto the hope of the ambition of this too-impossible-to-ever-be-real image of motherhood. I try to always end my days with gratitude. The gratitude of another day of being surrounded by all things beautiful and the reward of another day to embrace it all. Not to outdo the day before but to just soak it all in before my kids won't want to play with me on the floor anymore. Each day with young children is another chance to help your dreams and their reality collide in such a way that just might make this world better. At the very least, there will be laughter and that seems like a good place to start.

Here is to you my friends... I think that you are all things beautiful.


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