I Believe

 I believe humor is essential to surviving motherhood with my sanity intact. Without it, scrubbing jelly off the walls, carpet, and ceiling would send me off the deep-end. Sometimes, in the moments of brief madness, I lose sight of the importance of being a mother, and I find myself asking why these experiences are necessary.  

There was a time in my life when taking a shower didn’t require the lightening quick reflexes of a badminton player more a necessity to avoid slipping on rubber ducks and bath crayons. I could spend my birthday money without the consideration of who needed new shoes or underwear.  I remember a time when waking up in the morning wasn't dependent upon tiny terrorist’s demands for chocolate milk.  The memories, pre-kids, have diminished with time to be replaced with beautifully chaotic moments.

When I was younger, I didn't pay attention to kids. I did, however, see terror in the eyes of the parent whose toddler was holding them hostage over a candy bar or crackers. I heard kids throughout sacrament meetings, in the movie theaters, and in Libraries, where everyone else knew to be still.   I saw the messes fashioned by those tiny tots and wanted nothing to do with it.

Motherhood just happened to me. I wasn’t prepared to clean urine out of floor vents, or experience the agony of stepping on a stray Lego with bare feet.  No one told me kids relentlessly needed to have their curiosity satisfied. The background music of my life went from Counting Crows and Pearl Jam to cartoons and crying. 

When my youngest son crawls in bed with me in the early-morning hours and asks me to  “snuggle him,” that is when my questions are answered.  I am his mother, his safe place, and that’s all I need to be for now.  The answers are there in mud-smeared cheeks and in the laughter of anticipation while being chased.  

I believe in these tender moments; my children are teaching me more about life than I am teaching them. The answers are there; I just don’t always see them.