When did I become that mom?

As I am writing this Titus, our 4 month old, is being lulled to sleep by the rhythmic swaying of a swing. That's right. He is, (dare I even say it?), a swing napper. Today I got Braxton and Royce Wendy's for lunch and I didn't even try to convince them that apple slices taste just as good as French Fries. Pretty sure Royce is napping with ketchup in her hair. Hayleigh got off the bus yesterday, took off her winter coat which desperately needs to be washed (girl friend's a magnet for just about every salty, slushy car she twirls past) and I noticed that her shirt was on backwards. Unless she's suddenly taken up streaking at school and hastily redressed herself before the principal caught on, I am assuming she left the house that way. That is super unlikely though since Royce is my streaker and I am pretty sure each family is only allowed one...right? When did I become that mom?

Now before you take up your side to either comfort or condemn me, can I just say something? I don't really care. I don't know if it was the 4 kids in 6 years thing that forced me into this somewhat freeing, somewhat disconcerting space-almost like a purgatory between "good" moms and deadbeats. I am over the false or self-fabricated guilt. I honestly just do not have the time to sweat if someone (okay everyone) is wearing mis-matched socks or to even remember the last time we windexed the fingerprints off the windows. I've got much more important things to worry about.

Like how  over the past 3 days Titus has developed this sort of whine-howl thing that escalates every 20 or so seconds that it is ignored and seems, from what I can decipher, seems to indicate he is somehow unhappy laying on the floor mat or in the bumbo seat or basically anywhere else but in my lap. I looked at him the other day, my perfect, fat little cherry on top, and said through clenched teeth "will you please just shut up?!". I tough talked a baby, guys. (And Braxton of course reminded me I had used a "knife word", leading me down a trail of thought involving more knife words. Wasn't pretty. I need so much Jesus.) When did I become that mom?

Ands and Be (Words of the Years)

I would be either a dirty liar or a living in delusional denial if I said that I was not mostly glad to see 2015 go. Or if I said it did not leave me feeling like I was a school girl walking to class, going against the sea of people. And they kept bumping me knocking my books out of my hands, and every time I would turn to pick one up, another person would barrel into me knocking down two more. And then the gust of wind came through the open window and blew the stack of papers I was carrying, but it wasn't just a stack of papers. It was my final essay, one I had been laboring over for months, years even. It contained pretty much everything I knew about pretty much everything I know. And it was written with passion & tears and it was filled with just the most perfect words strung together in the most eloquent way. And then the wind took it in its gnarled grip and with a gust none of it was quite the same. Some pages were just wisked out the window, some were trampled under the feet of all the students racing by to beat the bell. The sea of navy uniforms (because I went to Catholic High School), sweeping them up in their waves, spitting them out the other side, only to be swept away by the current of them, coming. It happened so quickly, too quickly for me to stop it. And so slowly, as if I was watching it happen to someone else. And I saw my exaggerated slow motions grappling, feebly chasing down what was lost. The papers never went back in the stack the same way. Some gone, some torn, some smudged, some hopelessly out of order-out of line. And then the bell rang. And entire year, gone, as if it was only a 3 minute passing time. 2016 found me choking and sputtering on all the "ands". The nds that kept coming from every direction, each one so blindsiding yet so familiar, like the pit in my stomach.

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