Every once in awhile, I look back at posts from year’s past. With Mother’s Day being a Sunday holiday and late this year, I’ve been having a lot of past Mother’s Day posts popping up on my Facebook history this week.
It’s interesting how my perspective has changed. From taking the time to honor my own mommy on the first Mother’s Day I was blogging and sharing lessons she’s taught me (which got me my first nod on TODAY Parenting) to my honest take on what mommies really want for Mother’s Day and my plea last year to remember that mommies are people too.
And while every word of those posts still ring true, those realities for me are now buried under a giant mountain of things, needy little people and massive amounts of responsibility.
I desperately want to write a reflection on Mother’s Day at this stage of my mommying career. But I’ve got nothing except piles of laundry to take care of.
I want to share my feelings on Mother’s Day and what it means to me, how I genuinely feel about it. But I’ve got no words except the ones I’m reciting out of my daughters’ spelling books.
I want to pen a deeply profound piece on what I need most in life at this stage. But I need to move my toddler off the window ledge before he falls.
I want to type my heart out about being a mommy and the beautiful craziness of this life. But the reality of this life is that I’m rarely given the opportunity to relish in that beauty before all hell breaks loose.
My current existence is one in a state of constant chaos and busyness. There is rarely a dull or quiet moment (and those that do occur usually mean bad news). I want to revel in the glory of this stage of life, in the magnificence of each of my children (one of whom is wiped out with a fever, another who is standing on the couch swinging around a lightsaber and the other two who are fighting over what color plate to use).
Right now, though, I’m just too tired and overwhelmed to even think about doing more than merely getting everyone to bedtime.