Then when they're all here, and you're family's finished (you think), you go into Maintain Mode. The million bagillion to-do's that come with this part of the party take over your brain. You can see a matinee, maybe. If you can relax.
Keep them alive.
Keep them in sight.
Keep them healthy.
And then teach them something.
And you're happy with that. Because you love them so much, and because you're so grateful to have been trusted with the job. That makes you feel humble. And motivated. And tired. Sometimes.
A lot of the times.
Most of the time.
Because they jump off tables.
And they talk to strangers.
And they eat nasty stuff.
And you're not the only one teaching them something.
Then, they start to pour their own cereal. And you try to squeeze in a good chic flick or two...you know, with all this extra time you have. Because you're really sick of that sneaky fox.
And you see a little bit. Of you. And you remember you like stuff...other than pb&j. You kind of want to do something else. Not too much though, because you still love them, a lot, and wouldn't want to be anything more than their Mom.
But you do, a little
So you do just a little.
You put together a blueprint of a nice dream. And go to the movies. And eat steak for dinner.
It's okay because it's important to do something for yourself, sometimes, and you like personal validation, and you're teaching you're kids something...to be creative and to follow their dreams and to work hard. But they learn that "i'm busy" is more important than CandyLand.
And even though it's kinda nice to have an adult want to sit next to you at the lunch table...you're not cutting their apples into french fries anymore, which doesn't seem like a big deal, but it is because you're not doing it. And you're sitting by someone else.
And you're still tired.
And you want to help them reach the Frosted Flakes.
So, even though you're really sucked in...you walk out of your movie. Because you forgot to buy bandaids.
You can see the ending tomorrow.
And then you write about all of it while your son is spitting chocolate milk on your bay window. You write about how tired you are, and how you need to be more Mom today, and how you learn that it's okay for the dream to come tomorrow.
Right now, you're going to enjoy the pb&j.
because i like it.