I washed her hair
Sometimes being a Mom takes a lot out of a mom. You can never call in sick. You never get to take a day off. And you should never quit, even though sometimes you really, really want to.
Our children are growing, y'all. Growing! And the growing is bringing lots of crazy stuff with it. Like, sometimes, I look at our children with a look of puzzlement and all I can mutter is, "Huh?" Because behind the "Huh?" what I am really thinking is, "How did you get so smart and who says that you can outsmart me trying to outsmart you? I'm supposed to be the one who's got your 'number' because mine is unlisted and put on every do-no-call list ever made but somehow you hacked the internal forbidden system and found my number and now you are texting, twitter-tweeting and insta-slamming the C-R-A-P out of it before I can even pull my phone from my pocket to read the text you just sent me saying you have my number."
We are so screwed.
But then one of them will come up to you and tell you all about the speech they gave in their class about what they did during their Winter Break and how it was all about you and the time you spent together ONE DAY and how you had pedicures and manicures and facials and watched movies and chose eachother's outfits and took pictures and sang songs and how you are the best Mom in the whole world, and your heart just melts and you feel like a total heel for ever feeling like you needed a break from them. *Breathe.
Yesterday was a rough day for no one but me. I woke up one the wrong side of the bed which just happened to be my side of the bed, but it was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. And as the day went on it didn't get any better. I yelled at our son for eating a slice of a sourdough English muffin with all natural no-sugar-added jam spread on top; snapped at our six year old for needing a pair of socks; and rolled my eyes at our middle child so far back into my head that I gave myself a concussion, all because she asked if we could go to school already?! I didn't smile much at the sweet kiddos that I work with at the school, and I made my dogs go all day without food. I didn't want to carpool to gymnastics or the church or make dinner. All I wanted to do was snuggle up in my stretchy pants and warm cozy blanket with a bean bag and fast forward until I could drift of into a state of blissful dreamlessness.
Then, my girl asked me to wash her hair.
I tried to come up with all the reasons she could do it herself. "Think of the experience it would give you for when you grow up and become a beautician!"
I dug in my head for an excuse as to why she didn't need it washed. "Think of all the experience it will give you for when you grow up and have to camp in the woods for a week!"
I searched through my mental database to find an explanation as to why the kitchen sink was too dirty to wash hair in because it had dirty dishes multiplying in it. "Think of all the experience it will give you when you grow up to be a Mom and you don't feel like doing the dishes!"
Wait.
For when you become a Mom.
She's going to grow up one day.
And become a Mom.
A Mom!
Right then, all of my excuses and reasons and explanations meant nothing. I am her Mom and she had come to me. To me! And asked me to wash her hair. She knew she could have done it on her own. She knew that she could have easily gone one day without a wash, and she knew that the sink was dirty. But she didn't want to do it on her own. She wanted to have soft, clean hair. She cleaned the sink. And she wanted me to take care of her. It was then that I chose to kick my stinky, poopy diaper attitude to the curb. So I did. I got a nice comfy place for her to kneel. I put our softest towel over the ledge of the sink. I made sure the water was the perfect temperature, and I washed her hair.
I savored every moment, short as they were. I babied my baby who isn't a baby anymore. It only took 9 minutes out of my evening but it was an act that will forever be seared into my memory. We talked about nonsense mundane stuff. I told her that when I was younger I would do the same thing. She asked if I did it myself or if my Mom did it for me. I told her that I usually did it myself but sometimes I wished that my Mom would have done it. Then she asked, "Did you ever ask her to?" I never did, but I know she would have done it if I had but asked. Because she is my Mom.
That's what I am. A Mom. And I will forever be. And you know what? There's nothing else I'd rather be.
Sometimes it just takes a little shampoo and conditioner to remind me.
Our children are growing, y'all. Growing! And the growing is bringing lots of crazy stuff with it. Like, sometimes, I look at our children with a look of puzzlement and all I can mutter is, "Huh?" Because behind the "Huh?" what I am really thinking is, "How did you get so smart and who says that you can outsmart me trying to outsmart you? I'm supposed to be the one who's got your 'number' because mine is unlisted and put on every do-no-call list ever made but somehow you hacked the internal forbidden system and found my number and now you are texting, twitter-tweeting and insta-slamming the C-R-A-P out of it before I can even pull my phone from my pocket to read the text you just sent me saying you have my number."
We are so screwed.
But then one of them will come up to you and tell you all about the speech they gave in their class about what they did during their Winter Break and how it was all about you and the time you spent together ONE DAY and how you had pedicures and manicures and facials and watched movies and chose eachother's outfits and took pictures and sang songs and how you are the best Mom in the whole world, and your heart just melts and you feel like a total heel for ever feeling like you needed a break from them. *Breathe.
Yesterday was a rough day for no one but me. I woke up one the wrong side of the bed which just happened to be my side of the bed, but it was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. And as the day went on it didn't get any better. I yelled at our son for eating a slice of a sourdough English muffin with all natural no-sugar-added jam spread on top; snapped at our six year old for needing a pair of socks; and rolled my eyes at our middle child so far back into my head that I gave myself a concussion, all because she asked if we could go to school already?! I didn't smile much at the sweet kiddos that I work with at the school, and I made my dogs go all day without food. I didn't want to carpool to gymnastics or the church or make dinner. All I wanted to do was snuggle up in my stretchy pants and warm cozy blanket with a bean bag and fast forward until I could drift of into a state of blissful dreamlessness.
Then, my girl asked me to wash her hair.
I tried to come up with all the reasons she could do it herself. "Think of the experience it would give you for when you grow up and become a beautician!"
I dug in my head for an excuse as to why she didn't need it washed. "Think of all the experience it will give you for when you grow up and have to camp in the woods for a week!"
I searched through my mental database to find an explanation as to why the kitchen sink was too dirty to wash hair in because it had dirty dishes multiplying in it. "Think of all the experience it will give you when you grow up to be a Mom and you don't feel like doing the dishes!"
Wait.
For when you become a Mom.
She's going to grow up one day.
And become a Mom.
A Mom!
Right then, all of my excuses and reasons and explanations meant nothing. I am her Mom and she had come to me. To me! And asked me to wash her hair. She knew she could have done it on her own. She knew that she could have easily gone one day without a wash, and she knew that the sink was dirty. But she didn't want to do it on her own. She wanted to have soft, clean hair. She cleaned the sink. And she wanted me to take care of her. It was then that I chose to kick my stinky, poopy diaper attitude to the curb. So I did. I got a nice comfy place for her to kneel. I put our softest towel over the ledge of the sink. I made sure the water was the perfect temperature, and I washed her hair.
I savored every moment, short as they were. I babied my baby who isn't a baby anymore. It only took 9 minutes out of my evening but it was an act that will forever be seared into my memory. We talked about nonsense mundane stuff. I told her that when I was younger I would do the same thing. She asked if I did it myself or if my Mom did it for me. I told her that I usually did it myself but sometimes I wished that my Mom would have done it. Then she asked, "Did you ever ask her to?" I never did, but I know she would have done it if I had but asked. Because she is my Mom.
That's what I am. A Mom. And I will forever be. And you know what? There's nothing else I'd rather be.
Sometimes it just takes a little shampoo and conditioner to remind me.
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