The Mom I Am

Dropping E off at camp on Sunday was not the best, although we all do love the camp, and the grown ups who will be with him. I was sad because he'd just been gone for a week and been home literally long enough for me to do his laundry and pack everything back up before he was off again. And feeling bad because he was tired and overwrought and kept saying he didn't feel good (his short hand for something he doesn't want to do).

Anyway, at the good-bye dinner, my bff and I were sitting with another mom and doing this shtick we do where she goes "I'm the camping mom," and I go "I'm the TV and junk food mom," and the other parent pointed at her and said "I like you better." Which made me wonder if maybe WE were the tweens. But also made me realize maybe I don't have to participate in that little comedy routine anymore. Because here's the mom I am.

I'm the the mom whose first sewing project in 29 years was a green velvet cape. With a cord to tie it closed.

I'm the mom who lies down most nights and recites the 23rd Psalm. Or asks "tell me your good things and bad things". Or prays "...may doggies watch me through the night until I wake in morning light."

I'm the mom who called my friend the first time I did it, and said "I'm sorry I judged you before about giving your baby a cookie to keep him quiet."

I'm the mom who apologizes when I get it wrong.

I'm the mom who thought I wanted six. Mercy! That was before!

I'm the mom who thinks one is just about perfect.

I'm the mom who cries every time my kid sings or dances or talks on a stage.

I'm the mom who cries when your kid sings or dances or reads aloud, too.

I'm the mom who asks for a hug and smooch. And

I'm the mom who takes no for an answer. But

I'm the mom who will give you a hug and smooch back, if you ask.

I'm the mom who sleeps sitting up with you in my lap in front of the open patio door on a January night, because cold air is good for the croup.

I'm the mom who does that again the next night. And the next.

I'm the mom who urges you to be kind. And also, stand up for yourself.

I'm the mom who is still trying to figure that out how to do that myself.

I'm the mom who says out loud "I hate the science fair." Wait. that felt so good,

I'm the mom who says it again. I really do hate the science fair.

I'm the mom who does not hit. (Well, except for those 2 times. But then, really, never again.)

I'm the mom who asks "do you want privacy or company while you puke?" and then gives you what you want.

I'm the mom who worried about setting the baby down in a room full of babies and not being able to find him again, because all babies look so very much alike.

I'm the mom who takes you for a bike ride.

I'm the mom who will read you that book as many times you want. Unless it's Where's Waldo. Or the boring one about NASCAR.

I'm the mom who gives children nicknames like Little Bear or Bud or Sister or Sonny. If the last,

I'm the mom who sings (sometimes out loud but not every time) "...Had a little son, thought we'd call him Sonny..."

I'm the mom who interrupts "Waitaminute, waitaminute, waitaminute, are we talking about Minecraft right now?" and then "Ok, got it. Go on." (Even though I don't got it. And as far as I know I never will get it, where Minecraft is concerned.)

I'm the mom who does not make you make your bed. But

I'm the mom who says "take out the garbage, empty the dishwasher, feed the dogs" every. single. day.

I'm the mom who drives and drives and drives and drives.

I'm the mom who talked the dad into getting a television for the Summer Olympics that one year, after he said he'd never want one again.

I'm the mom who talked the dad into the second dog, too, if I remember rightly. Also, the first dog, now that I think of it.

I'm the mom who would rather say yes. But says no sometimes, just for balance.

I'm the mom who keeps the bracelet made of fuzzywuzzyballs and the necklace made of play dough in the jewelry box.

I'm the mom who tells the truth, unless it's too embarrassing. And even then, sometimes.

I'm the mom who sits calmly through any number of tantrums, but writhes in agony at the first whine.

I'm the mom who who should definitely never cut your hair. But

I'm the mom who will comb it out for you, no matter how many knots are in it.

I'm the mom who offers a crabby child a shower or a sandwich or a run around the block. Or all three.

I'm the mom who sighs, "That's math. Ask your dad."

I'm the mom with the trampoline in the back yard and the rope swing in the garage.

I'm the mom who you probably should not ask to bake anything, but

I'm the mom who remembers your favorite food, and tries to have it here when you come over, because

I'm the mom who thinks that's important.

I'm the mom who declares (aloud and repeatedly!) that there is no Santa, but who every Christmas gives you a stocking stuffed with windup toys and gum and whatever-you're-collecting-this-year cards and an orange in the toe anyway.

I'm the mom who loves the swimming pool almost as much as you do. Especially! The whirlpool of doom!

I'm the mom who laughs at your jokes. But hardly ever at you.

That's the mom I am.