Dear M,

I've written quite a few blog posts writing "to my children", which is ridiculous. They are 3 and one and can't read. Plus by the time they can read, they will probably be like, "Blog? Whaaaa? That's lame, mom. We only read in emojis and hashtags now. #illiterate #winkyface."

But this post isn't for my children.

It's for me.

Dear M,

Let me start out, by saying you look fantastic today. Those sweatpants that used to be Big S's that you stole make you look like a homeless Disney star with your hair all glammed up like that. And by glammed, I mean in a dirty pony tail. Don't worry, no one can even notice that you are totally experiencing record breaking sleep deprivation torture that's probably on par with water boarding.

M, you're still cool. Don't listen to your sister, she still watches the OC, which is like, so 2004. What does she know about cool anyway? You know how to cook mac and cheese while children are screaming at your feet like a boss (Are people still making The Lonely Island references?).

I know everyone your age is having adventures.
They are traveling.
They are being 23.
And you're a wife.
You're a mom.
You have 2 tiny children depending on you.
You're probably under qualified for this.

Let me just say, right now, this, this life is hard.

But you're nailing it.

I could write a thousand posts about all the things I've done wrong. I could list every time I failed my children, my husband and my family. I could dwell on every misspoken word, every harsh reply, and every unfinished project. I can't count the number of times I've questioned my judgement in parenting. I could give you more accounts of my "failed adolescence." I've spent countless nights awake wondering why God gave me this family just for me to screw it up.

But God doesn't make mistakes.
Ever.

Yes, I'm a disaster.
I worry too much.
I waste time on petty things.
I feed my kids frozen pancakes (I mean, I microwave them first. I'm not a monster).
I let them watch too much TV.
I forget our laundry in the washer and just re wash and re wash and re wash it for a week straight.
I call Big S and make him pick up Panera when I'm too lazy to cook (read: most days).
I work out only so I can eat king size candy bars daily.
I google too much.
I obsess over Rae's medical stuff.
I am short tempered.
And I am just an absolute mess of a person.

But every day, without fail...

They tell me they love me. 

"Um, excuse me mommy? I have a secret. I love you." from Little S. Everyday.

Bedtime snuggles she never wants to end from Rae. Everyday.

Back massages and words of affirmation from Big S. Every. Single. Day.

It doesn't matter if I spent too much of my day yelling "CHILDREN! JUST 5 MINUTES. 5 Minutes of quiet!" or being short with my husband. It doesn't matter if we ran from doctor to doctor and I barely saw Little S at all. It doesn't matter if I spent my day in a decaffeinated daze, without fail, they love me.

They love me, because what I'm doing is important and good and exactly what they need from me. 

I teach my children to pray and be thankful each day. 

I tell my husband how incredible he is, and that I'm lucky to have him. 

I tell my babies I love them. 

I know all of Buzz Lightyears catch phrases.

I shower them with hugs and snuggles until they beg me to stop. 

I can heal a bumped head with a kiss.

I sympathize with Rae and I do my best to give her all that she needs. 

I chase them. 

I play playdoh with them. 

I make silly faces and make up ridiculous songs. 

I can spit out every word of their favorite books by memory.

I can do the ABC puzzle in 22 seconds flat.

I build blanket forts. 

I make a mean PB&J. 

I can stop a meltdown just by singing the chorus of Let it Go.

I keep my pantry well stocked with chocolate (these are important things). 

And I pray for them daily.

God entrusted me with my babies and my husband.

I'm exactly what they need.

He doesn't make mistakes, despite the increasing numbers I make.

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to his purpose."
Romans 8:28

You're doing alright.
You're really nailing this parenting thing.


M