I just celebrated my fifth Mother’s day.
Five years have come and gone since I had my first daughter.
Three since my second.
just. like. that.
It seemed like a good time to reflect upon my journey as a mom.
Knowing I am a work in progress.
According to Webster’s dictionary: “Reflection is defined as a thought, idea, or opinion formed or a remark made as a result of meditation.”
Add the word mom and you have “momflections.”
Kind of clever and certainly not my creation, but accurate for this story.
I have great hopes to raise happy, well adjusted, responsible young women.
Help them grow into citizens of the world.
Teach them to care for our planet.
Show them how to be kind to others.
How to be honest.
Believe in themselves.
Have their dreams. Chase their dreams. Achieve their dreams.
It’s way too quiet in the house.
I snap back to reality and out of my current chain of thought…
I look out the window and into the backyard.
I see my youngest daughter is jumping up and down in the dog water bowl.
A minute later, both kids are dipping their heads in water of the same bowl.
Then, they decide to pour the dog water over their heads.
And finally, as the pièce de résistance, they finish their fun by dragging their wet hair back and forth over the patio. Making patterns that only sopping wet hair can create.
I guess I have a ways to go. sigh.
My daughters are unique. Each with her own look and personality.
My oldest, Ava, loves all animals and has an imagination as big as the sky. She loves to sing. She is an artist. She has great compassion for others. And since she was a baby, total strangers have stopped to comment on her physical beauty. The compliments are appreciated, but I don’t want her to be defined by this.
She is so much more. She is artistic. She is intelligent. She is dramatic. She is soulful.
My youngest, Mia, is little miss independent with a personality much bigger than she. She’ll ask to paint and spend about one second painting the paper before she is painting her face. Her gift is dancing which she does with great enthusiasm. She is a fan of all kinds of music. She’ll take the lipgloss out of my purse and neatly apply it to her rosebud pout. (No, I did not teach her how to do this!)
She’ll happily sit in the dirt and tell me she is “smelling the trees.”
She is creative. She is comedic. She is brave. Future class clown or president. Sign up here. She has that much charisma.
I am lucky…
I hear their effervescent laughter bubbling up from the backyard. Satisfied they have squeezed every bit of fun out of a simple bowl of water.
I am grateful.
They run in the house and wrap their tiny arms around my leg. Soaking me. I am in the moment. Knowing it will pass in a blink.
I am happy.
I am in charge of this precious cargo.
And I think to myself…
don’t. mess. this. up.