Happy Mother’s Day?

The sun isn’t very bright yet when she wakes to the sound of loud whispering, to the sight of a homemade paper card a few millimeters from her face. The smell is that of unsorted laundry; bedsheets a tad late for their cleaning, with an infusion of overdue diaper. She doesn’t seem able to lift her legs, or one arm. Even her lower extremities are penned as the sleepy man to her side wakes enough to stretch and embrace what he can reach affectionately.

Using her free hand, she grasps at the paper and pulls it to the range at which she can make out its contents. It’s too early, her brain complains, to decipher Cyrillic. She blinks and refocuses. Ah, she realizes, those were flowers -and probably people. Maybe letters.

Taking a guess, she attempts speech. “How nice, Sweetheart!” The artist frowns at the unusually croaky sounds. She clears her throat some, and tries again. “I see you drew me and you and flowers…” She relaxes as his scowl turns to smiles. Satisfied, he turns and falls off the bed, relieving one pinned leg.

The next boy thrusts his offering at equal facial distance to the first, then turns and frowns disinterestedly at the wall. This one is definitely English; it’s even partially typed. She sees he is clearly the most talkative child on paper, too, with so many one-word responses to this standard form his class was given. Age: 33, Hair: brown, Favorite food: food. She smiles, then looks more strained at the next two answers he’d supplied: She likes to … do dishes, She’s really good at … doing dishes. She tries to look grateful as he’s pretending not to watch but really is. “Thanks, Honey,” she smiles and is not surprised as he shrugs and dodges her attempts to hug him. He, too, leaves the bed and another leg free.

She looks to her other arm and her other half. Both smile up at her with similar expressions. Genetics will do that. “I love you, Mommy,” the wet diaper owner says sweetly. He cringes adorably as she kisses a plump cheek.

Dad sighs again and sits up. “Let’s go make Mommy breakfast,” he tells his youngest. He scoops her remaining impediment into the air playfully. He looks down at the bedheaded beauty who birthed them all.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” he says, and leaves.

Finally alone, she looks over her offspring’s offerings, and cries.

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(I originally wrote this and posted it on Facebook on May 14, 2017.)

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Sunday, May 5: “Parenting is Hard, so Why Still Do It?,” a fantastic piece that came after a really long week.

Monday, May 6: Wrote a ‘poem’ titled, “Short Mom Rap.”

Tuesday, May 7: Shared a quote on patience by Paulo Coehlo.

Wednesday, May 8: Recommended against Sour Patch Kids cereal and others of its milk.

Thursday, May 9: “Those Little Shutterbugs,” a snippet hoping that all those phone pics will lead my kids to a productive life as a photographer.

Friday, May 10: “Take Time for You. Ish.” Advised parents, everywhere, to eschew the guilt and get out.

Saturday, May 11: Shared Heather is a Hot Mess‘s tweet about Magic Socks (or Magic Couches).

Sunday, May 12: Happy Mother’s Day!

Photo Credit:
kevin liang

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

Take Time for You. Ish.

This evening was a monumental event in my life, marking another finger on the one hand that can count how many times I’ve left the house and gone to something without ALL THE KIDS.

Between cost, cost, cost, and cost; I just haven’t been able to justify a lot of me time. Like, ever.

And, despite what I said about going without kids, I actually went with two of them. They’re older now, so it’s almost like a date. -Though not in a weird way.

But see? That’s the problem. I have a lot of Mom Guilt about anything I do. If I do something, it needs to not cost a lot. It needs to not traumatize the kids. It needs to be with my husband. It needs to, in short, be worth more than the anxiety of all those worries.

So, when I finally get out, I most often choose an event that is free and/or one to which the offspring may also come. I pat myself on the back for culturally enlightening them, even though I had to hiss at them to Get back in your seat and Stop poking each other and For the love of everything holy will you please stop making noise??

Today, then, is the advice that I am not so great at following:

Seriously, go to something with just you.

Seriously.

At least once a year, okay?

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Photo Credit:
chuttersnap

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

Short Mom Rap

My life’s a chore
An’ a bore
Go to the store some more
Then encore.

Next I goes
Home to clothes
Nerf gun throws
Runny nose
Kids won’t doze.

Why’d I birth these boys
These toys
This NOISE annoys
“Kids are joys,”

Said what fool?
I’m not cool
Just a tool at a school
In carpool.

Word to my kids’ mother.

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Photo Credit:
Image by Sklorg from Pixabay

 

Inspirational Quote 9

“Motherhood has completely changed me. It’s just about like the most completely humbling experience that I’ve ever had. I think that it puts you in your place because it really forces you to address the issues that you claim to believe in and if you can’t stand up to those principles when you’re raising a child, forget it.”

-Diane Keaton