dear girls, mama loves you.

My sleep schedule may just kill me. And not just because I’m so effing tired all the live long day, but because being awake for hours in the dark can sometimes be downright terrifying.

This morning as I am laying (lying?) there at 3:30 am, I think about my girls. I think about how Monday is supposed to be date night with Jaylee, but I was not home. I did other things. Made others a priority. Who has priority over my family? No one should. 

The three people who live in my home with me are my heart, but do they know this? Do I show this? I sure didn’t last night.

Last week the girls and I checked a book out from the library. We are really enjoying it, and have found that if you first build a fort in your room, and then snuggle under it to read, the book is that much better.

I don’t always take the time to read under the fort. Sometimes I find that I don’t take time to read at all, and it is in the dark hours that all the times I don’t take time for them come back to me.

My mama heart aches, and I start to sweat, and cry, and worry. I wait out the dark, and am so excited when the sun finally starts to wake up the day. The birds start chirping, the chickens start milling around with their little noises, and something in that begins a settling in me.

Soon my girls will be awake and I can see their faces and give them a longer than usual hug. 

They are so patient with me.


In the dancing of the puddles, I hope they think of their childhood fondly. I hope they remember that I may not have been the best mama, but I was always here. 


I want them to remember that we sat out by the fire (that mama built!) and we laughed and said silly things. And then we three snuggled into the same bed for the night. Even if it was hot and crowded, it was together. And together is our very favorite.

You know, usually.

The years are flying it seems. My youngest has her ninth birthday soon, and I can still remember the day she was born as if it were yesterday.  They were hard days but I would happily live them over again to mother her and her older sister better than I did then.

Hindsight is a jerk.

Dear children, your mama sure loves you. In the impatient, unkind remarks, she loves you. In the forgotten mama/daughter dates, she loves you. In the ushering you up to put yourself to bed, she loves you. In the moments she “mhms” you without actually hearing you, she loves you. Always know.

Mother’s Day is coming up. It’s a “holiday” I dread. Quotes because, who decides this crap? And fine, make it a day, whatever. But the marketing, the making it bigger than it needs to be, making it so every woman has too high of expectations for anyone to fill – well, that’s too much. And where I’ve decided to draw my red line.

Last year, on Mother’s Day, while scrolling through the Explore section of my Instagram, I saw that a mother had given gifts to her small children. Thanking them for making her a mother. For without them, she wouldn’t have this day.

I am not that selfless. I waited a whole lotta married years to become a mama, and to have my first Mother’s Day, and when it arrived, I wanted the day to be about me. 

And since that first Mother’s Day, I have thought this selfish thought.

Seeing that woman’s heart convicted my own, and I realized, finally realized, “yes! This is what Mother’s Day is about! My children!”

I’m an extremely slow learner.

It was that day that I decided Mother’s Day will no longer be about me, but about them. They asked what I wanted, and I told them a day without kitchen duty. But truly, the kitchen is where I feel I best serve my family. So if I make the foods, and I do the dishes, so be it. But I will find another way to thank my children for making me a mother.

And now that I have written all the rambly words, I will head back to bed, and try to rest a bit before they wake up and drive me crazy(ier).

XO

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