I always knew that I wanted to be the Mom that let the kids come over, hang out – and play. It’s better that they’re playing at-home, right? It is better that they want to come here and play with the backyard or the kids’ room.
I want Olivia and Violet and our future children to welcome their friends, I want their friends to feel welcome.
Then, there are those moments you wonder what the heck you were thinking wanting to be ‘that mom’
Those moments where I think that slowly pulling out my fingernails would be better than having the kids play. Those moments where I send Olivia outside to find one of her friends on the street, in hopes that the other kids follow and stop disrupting afternoon work time to ask for more snacks.
Those moments where the older girls love the ‘baby’ but the baby hates the little girls. She doesn’t want to be picked up. She doesn’t want to be put into her crib. She wants to feed herself until she’s frantically signing at you to put her to bed and away from these miniature crazy people.
Those moments where if I hear another kid scream like a banshee I am going to lose my mind.
Those moments where you don’t want to search through the pantry to find a dairy-free snack or gluten-free snack that’s going to be suitable for the hungry kid lustily staring at the pantry.
Those moments when you think you’ve answered the 900th question about the type of toilet paper in the bathroom, the secret reason you chose something like the color of the rug in the living area, or what’s for dinner.
Those moments where there are 16 minutes left until the kids have to return to their home for dinner. In case you were wondering that’s 960 seconds.
Until something happens. There is that peaceful moment when the kiddos are cuddling on the couch watching something that everyone agreed upon on Netflix, a jumble of elbows and blankets on a twenty-five degree day or engulfed in a game of imaginary kingdoms in the Little Tikes castle in the backyard and you remember why it’s important to you to be that mom.
During the in-between these moments, I’ll just continue to send Jamie ranting texts about how the kids are driving me so close to insane that I might start doing vodka shots circa 2007.