The Journey

I have never felt more like a mom than I do right now. I'm in a stage of life at the moment where my kids seem to really need my services. I'm providing most of the cooking, cleaning, driving, watching, and listening. I am to be seen and not heard. My girls need me around, but they don't want my advice or criticism. My encouragement of their endeavors must be discreet and unwavering.

My days are a little weird, but kind of fun. Two kids don't like cheese; the other two insist on a slice of cheddar on their turkey sandwiches. One kid loves competition; one kids avoids team sports at all costs; the youngest just want to roam free and play without any structure. They all have long hair, but each has a favorite hairstyle. No ponytails for one, only ponytails for another, french braid for a third, and I'm not allowed to touch the head of the fourth kid—she'll comb her own hair, thank you very much.

My husband's elderly aunt visited our home a few years ago. The twins were toddlers. The older girls were messy and clueless, forgetting to shut the door as they ran in and out, in and out. The house was loud and crazy. She loved it. Her husband passed long ago, and she's lived longer as a widow than as a married woman. Her own children are middle-aged, married with grown children of their own. She told me to enjoy it while I've got it.

I am.



Dinner last night: ham-potato bake

Exactly two years ago:

Untitled, Mommy with Teeth