Babies.

Full of trouble, babies are.

They keep us awake at night. And then just when we think we are going to sneak in a nap, they keep us awake during the day, too.

They cry. Early on, they cannot communicate their needs and wants very well, so crying is their method of choice.

And then they start talking. Which is great, but then the talking turns to whining. And asking 3,582 questions an hour.

Babies are stinky. You see colors of poop you didn’t know existed. Before long, you become that mom who lifts the baby’s bottom to nose level, take a big whiff, and determine what deed has been done.

Babies are expensive. We buy any $35 trinket marketed for better sleep or less fussiness or higher intelligence. We buy expensive strollers and diapers and car seats and nursery sets and diapers and clothes and toys and swings and diapers and bouncers and diapers.

But none of this is the trouble.

No, definitely not.

The trouble with babies is that they grow.

They start off so small. We fall in love with the tiny feet and tiny hands and tiny nostrils and tiny butt cheeks. The newborn diapers are so adorable that our new mama hearts explode into rainbow unicorn confetti. The sleepers and onesies are darn near doll-size, and this delights us to no end.

And then they grow.

Before long, we are packing away the newborn clothes, crying softly in the attic. Holding up each outfit and remembering the spit-up stains or the occasion for that frilly dress. Some things (a lot of things) still have tags attached because the baby just grew too quickly to wear everything.

The “Next Size Up” game continues every few months for the next couple of years. Shoes and coats continue to grow larger, too. Before you know it, diapers turn to underwear and your baby just isn’t a baby anymore.

In the blink of an eye, you’re registering your baby for Kindergarten. That can’t be right, can it? Didn’t you just have that baby? Weren’t you just holding her in your arms, shushing her to sleep? Wasn’t she just babbling her first word and stumbling through her first steps?

Yes, the trouble with babies is that they grow.

And that they are terrible listeners, because you’re certain you told her at least a trillion times to stop growing! Don’t get any bigger!

But she does. She just keeps growing.

As you begin this next chapter of life, you realize that you will not only witness additional physical growth in your baby, but you will see growth in many other ways.

Growth in the confidence to meet a new friend, to stand up for someone being picked on, to walk into the school building, alone, without looking back.

Growth in the courage to try out for a team, to stay all night at a friend’s house, to state an unpopular opinion.

Growth in knowledge.

Growth in faith.

The trouble with babies is that they grow.

And the trouble with mamas is that we don’t want to let them.

I know it’s been a while since I’ve written. I’ve talked about these phases before…the ones when I am so overwhelmed by thoughts and to-do’s and dreams and regrets and everything all at once that I just quit things for a while.

I tend to shut down for a little bit, collect myself, refocus, and deal with only what needs to be addressed. Everything else takes a ride in the back seat for a bit until I can catch my breath.

And now that I’ve reset myself, I’ve got something that I need to confess.

This blog is nothing if it is not honest, so…here goes.

And no. It wasn’t this shitcident (see what I did there?) that forced me into a few weeks of solitary. It was merely a culminating event, following several days of deep contemplation about what I was doing with my life.

And if you believe in signs and all that…I’d say ingesting one of my daughter’s waste slushies was a big, red, flashing, beeping sign that I should renew my teacher’s license immediately. Like, yesterday.

For the two weeks following this pivotal day in my life, I was just straight depressed.  Then grumpy. Then some more depression, followed by a bit more grumpy.

Was this what my life had become? A Fear Factor-America’s Funniest Videos mashup? I have a college degree! I have big plans and big dreams that don’t involve learning to sing the Doc McStuffins theme song in 7 different accents! I used get emails that required a well-worded, timely response!

I was important.

And then it hit me. 

I was important? Why do I no longer feel important? Was my career the only thing that defined me as important? 

Am I no longer valued, needed, or held to high standards because I no longer teach full-time? 

Are my successes not to be counted, simply because they don’t look like the successes of other people?

Am I really nearly 31 years old and still trying to compare myself to others?

So, after several days of sulking, telling my husband I needed to go back to teaching, and convincing myself I was worthless, I decided to give myself a kick in the ass and snap out of it. 

My daughters are watching my every move and listening to my every word. 

I asked myself what I would tell my children if they were feeling the way I was feeling, and I gave myself a good ol’ fashioned pep talk.

There are many kinds of important. It takes all the kinds. Not everyone can be the same kind of important. That would be boring and useless. We need everyone to be their own important so that all the jobs get done and everyone knows their place in this world.

There are four seasons in a year, but there are about a gazillion seasons of life. Some are happily or sadly short. Others are blissfully or painfully long. Some seasons are exciting and fun and enjoyable. Others are tiring, depressing, and uncertain. Accept that nothing lasts forever and seasons change…sometimes without warning.

Success is relative and personal. Don’t measure your successes against the successes of others. Success is how you feel about your accomplishments and not about how others notice or recognize them. Yes, it feels good to be praised outwardly, but that is nothing compared to how it feels to be proud inwardly. Do what makes you feel proud inside, and you have achieved success.

You are valued. You are loved. You are expected to show up. Even when you don’t want to– you are expected to wake up each day and embrace your role. Some are required to show up in a dress suit and stilettos. You are required to show up at least wearing pants. This does not make you less of a person. 

And on the bad days, because there will always be bad days, remember that you drank a shit slushie and did not die. Surely, you can handle just about anything. 

I had the rare and special opportunity to be one of my oldest daughter’s preschool teachers this year. A few weeks ago, as we were preparing Mother’s Day gifts in class, I asked each child about a favorite activity he or she likes to do with his or her mom. The kids were drawing and coloring their renditions of each memory on the packaging for the handmade gifts we created.

While coloring away, my daughter told her friend, “I love it when my mom picks flowers with me.” She said it so matter-of-factly, like she didn’t have to think about it. She didn’t lift her eyes from her paper as she swirled her crayon intentionally. Stick figures with huge smiles. Bright flowers. Hearts.

My heart swelled for a little bit until I realized that I don’t think I have ever picked flowers with my daughter. Sure, I have watched her pick a dandelion or two out of our yard while I waited impatiently with our van door open, ready to head out to the next errand or play date.

Several times, I have explained to her through gritted teeth that the neighbors’ flowers are not ours for the taking.

I have begrudgingly paid for a bouqet or two of flowers at the grocery store because she simply had to have them, displaying them in a vase on the counter for an additional two weeks after they all died– half because she couldn’t bear to throw them out and half because I couldn’t remember to do it.

But have I ever really picked flowers with her? Like get a basket and hold hands and skip through a field of daisies while we sing Mary Poppins songs and pull the prettiest blooms?

No. I haven’t.

So my heart went from swelling with love and warm fuzzies to feeling dark and withered and cold. My poor girl was making up memories of things we’ve “done together,” rather than drawing pictures of what we actually spend our time doing.

Now, don’t misunderstand– I spend plenty of time with my girls. We do lots of fun activities. We go to the farmer’s market. We have treats at Starbucks. We visit the zoo and the children’s museum. They go with me to stores and we go on walks. We go to parks and the library. I watch them squeal in the baby pool and beg for harder pushes on the swing set. We do things. Fun things.

But so often I get wrapped up in the going and doing that I forget about the simplest joys. Here I am, checking my Disney Rewards points every month, looking forward to the next time we can take them to the Happiest Place on Earth. Meanwhile, my daughter is fantasizing about picking flowers with me.

She didn’t draw us walking through Disney World on that package. She didn’t draw the time we ate Dippin’ Dots at the zoo. She didn’t draw the cake pops from Starbucks. She didn’t draw anything that cost any money or required any amount of planning or Pinning or traveling to do.

I am sharing this with you now because Summer Break has started. Kids are out of school, and if you’re anything like me, you’ve been scouring Pinterest and Facebook and blogs in search of The Best Things To Do With Your Kids This Summer and The Top 10 Places To Visit With Kids and How To Beat Summer Boredom. You might be disappointed that you don’t have a big vacation planned or that Disney isn’t in the budget this year. You might be thinking that you’re dropping the ball if you don’t have entertainment on the schedule each day or if your child isn’t going to a camp every other week or if you aren’t making your own popsicles from scratch.

Kids just don’t really need all of that to be happy. I don’t think I ever really believed that before the “flower memory” incident with my daughter, but now I know it’s true.

We love to dream big, don’t we? We love to make elaborate plans and purchase expensive gifts, imagining the looks of pure bliss on the faces of our children. We say to ourselves, “She is going to FLIP when she sees this!” or “She will go NUTS when we tell her where we’re going!” Bringing joy to our children is one of the best parts of parenting.

But we shouldn’t be afraid to dream smaller. To find the magic in the little moments.

All the small adds up to something really big.

This Summer, there will be zoo trips and a beach vacation and a cake pop (or 2 or 12). But there will be  books on the couch. And listening to birds. And watching the clouds. And napping in the sun. And counting freckles.

And picking flowers.

I have started and stopped this post a dozen times by now. It has been difficult to find the words and the courage to type this all out, but I feel strongly that other mothers need to read this, so I’m going to be brave and speak from the heart. Like I do.

Now first, for a title.

The one about…the time I thought about leaving my kids home alone so I could get some space.
(too CPS-worthy?)

The one about…the day of 5 million tears.
(too dramatic?)

The one about…why I suck at life.
(too vague?)

Nevermind. I’ll do the title at the end.

Most of you know, I “stay home” with my three small daughters, ages 5, 2, and 6 months. I put “stay home” in quotes because I don’t know the last time I actually “stayed home” for an entire day with my children. There are always errands to run, appointments to be late for, and activities to get to. Many days, I feel like I spent the majority of my day in my van. So maybe it is more appropriate to say that I am a “stay in my van” mother.

Shit, now if that’s not glamorous.

But, it is what I wanted. I desperately wanted it. I needed to be able to spend this time with my children when I was working full-time, and I am blessed to be able to do it.

To all of the mothers reading this who work a full-time job outside the home, away from your kids all day, I already know what you’re thinking.

Great. A post about how she had a “tough day” with her kids. I wish I could have the luxury of a “tough day” with my kids. Good Lord, get a grip and show some gratitude that you get to spend all day with your children, even if it is in your dumb van. 

Please, before you hit the red X at the top of the screen and Google strong cocktail recipes…just hear me out.

No matter what you call your daytime occupation, we are all mothers, and we all have the capacity to love our children more than life itself…and to absolutely lose our minds at a moment’s notice.

(Now, if you can’t relate to that statement, go ahead and hit the red X and drink your cocktail)

So, about a week ago, it was a rainy day, which meant my children were basically crawling up the walls like monkeys in a zoo, frantically foraging the house for the next meal, and blinking their big, bored eyeballs at me as if to ask when the Disney parade would be marching through because this Play Doh ain’t cuttin it, Lady.

It was the perfect storm (see what I did there?). Can’t play outside on the new swing set that was to be my saving grace from indoor boredom. Too crummy to really get out and about because, well, have you tried getting 3 small children from your vehicle to a store/museum/restaurant…in the rain? ALL of our toys are just SO old and SO boring and SO already played with. Won’t let them just stare at a TV all day because I’m still a contender for the Meanest Mom Ever award.

Cue the crying, tantrums, arguing, and just general chaos. Also, cue the resounding chorus, “Oh, enjoy these days! These are the best times of your life!”

Oh, the joy.

As I was standing in my living room amidst My Little Pony debris and Barbie shrapnel, my oldest screaming because she had squirted perfume in her eyeball, I contemplated leaving. There, I said it. I contemplated getting in my van and circling the block or the state and just getting some air.

Some space.

Some peace.

BUT I DIDN’T, OKAY.

I DID NOT LEAVE MY CHILDREN UNATTENDED.

I know that I would never, ever do that.

But I’m not going to lie that it sounded like a decent idea at the time.

So, I did what any grown woman would do.

I cried.

Boy, did I cry.

And then, when I thought I was done, I called my husband at work to cry some more.

I think for the first five minutes, all I did was yell one, long sentence. And when I took a breath, I sobbed hysterically.

He was silent.

But it was a comforting silence.

A familiar silence…because this wasn’t my first time melting into a puddle of disaster, and it wasn’t his first time cleaning it up.

He let me do my thing, and when I came up for air, he gave me the oxygen mask.

He reassured me.

He calmed me.

He loved me when I was borderline unlovable.

He gave me just what I needed so that I could end the day so much better than it began.

“You’re doing a good job, Babe.”

“Some days are just more difficult than others.”

“No, our children don’t need counseling.”

“I love you.”

A few (hundred thousand) deep breaths later, and I was able to look my children in the (bored) eyeballs and restart the day. I took it easy on myself and put in a movie (or 2 or 7).

And by taking it easy on myself, I took it easy on them, too.

Not every (or any) day is going to look like a Pin-worthy picture. I’ve got to remember that.

When he got home that night, we talked about the events of the day, and I blubbered through my tears, “I bet I am the only mom who ever felt like running away.”

He smiled and said, “I bet millions of moms feel like running away sometimes.”

And that’s when I started to write this post…because there might be another Mama somewhere, drowning in dirty diapers and perfume-inflicted eye injuries, feeling on the brink of insanity, and the last thing you need to feel is alone.

It doesn’t mean you don’t love your children. In fact, I feel it means quite the opposite.

You love them so much that you want only the best, only the most awesome, only the most wonderful days and memories and Mama for them, and when the reality doesn’t meet the expectation, you feel like you failed.

You didn’t fail.

Even if you got in your van and thought about driving to Hawaii, you still didn’t fail.
(You may have failed geography class, but…)

You need to hear what I needed to hear.

You’re doing a good job.

Some days are just more difficult than others.

No, your children (probably) don’t need counseling.

The van.

The day.

You just need to turn it around.