Tuesday, June 13, 2017

My house is a mess. I am horrible at sticking to routines. Cleaning, exercising, diet... all those good habits that make you a successful adult, I fail miserably at those.

But today I was sitting on my dirty kitchen floor trying to get Nora to walk to me and Eliza came and sat on my lap. And she looked me in the eyes and kissed my cheek and said, "You are the best mommy ever." She tells me this almost daily, and for some reason I usually brush it off. Probably because she also tells me I'm mean, and she doesn't love me anymore almost daily as well. So I just let it all slide off. But for some reason today I heard her. I let it sink in. I realized that to the little person whose opinion matters most (on this particular subject) I am the best. She doesn't care that our floor is dirty, that laundry hardly ever gets put away, and the toys are only in their designated bins 3/365 days a year. It didn't effect my "best mommy ever" standing when I lost my temper, or brushed her hair. She doesn't mind that I waste too much time on Facebook. She sees me, in all my flawed glory, and she loves me relentlessly. Almost suffocatingly. And that's beautiful.

Even Olivia will occasionally declare what a great mom I am. I don't know why I'm writing about this. Maybe because the messy house really is bothering me, and for some reason whenever my kids tell me that I'm "the best" I usually ignore it. Or immediately think that they just want something. But man, I just feel so lucky to be their mom lately.

I realized the other night, when I should have been sleeping but my mind was all over the place, that whenever I'm walking all I do is reach my hand out to my side and almost instantly there is a tiny hand intertwined with mine. More often than not there's a fight for the coveted spot of holding my hand. And more often than not I end up with this weird thing where two kids hold each hand, each getting a couple of fingers to grip onto with their tiny hands. Though I guess it has been a while since Olivia fought to hold my hand. But sometimes I just feel so overwhelmed by all this, I don't stop to appreciate it. So I am now. I'm writing it down so that when they're all grown up and I reach out my hand and there's no one there to hold it, I will have these precious memories. Memories of times when there was almost not enough of me to go around. Memories of being needed (for every.little.thing.). Memories or being snuggled, kissed (elbowed, squished). Memories of being fought over to sit next to on the couch, and making room for everyone. 

 I know this time is fleeting. Olivia is 9. We just repeat her entire life, and she's 18! I started this blog when I was pregnant with her. It really doesn't seem that long ago at all. And time really is speeding up. So I'm making an effort to stop beating myself up about the disorganized messy house, and try to live in the moment with these lovely little people while they're still all so obsessed with me.

No comments:

Post a Comment