Yesterday, while out to pick up the oldest, I realized that given the opportunity to take a mini-break that I probably wouldn't return home. My husband promised me a weekend away, last summer. The schedule being what it was, I didn't cash in that chip. But I keep it in my pocket, ready to pull out in an emergency. Yesterday was not that day.
I am not cake. I am not to be measured, dissected, fought over. I am not to be accused of loving one more than the other. Dispensing more morning kisses to one than the other. Despite the fact, one shuns my kisses anyway. So am I to try to give a kiss, only to have those efforts shut down? Maybe that is the game...
It is not my master of the universe plan to walk to school closer to one than the other. I can't make the snow covered sidewalks any wider than the plow. It is not my wish that we have to walk single file so that no one gets more time at my side. I would rather have my children around me, but not fighting to be attached to my hip.
Lunches are made to order. I don't make her a better lunch. I make what I'm told will get eaten.
I don't lord over homework to reteach myself the basic building blocks of education. If help is needed; I'll be there. It's not that I don't want to sit and watch my children write for 30 minutes. It's because the Honors Math Midterm is looming. Truth be told; I can't write that essay for you.
Mothers are not equipped with little meters that measure each an every syllable I utter or am forced to listen to. Truly, if I am engaged in the fourth discussion of the week about the latest crush or playground bully, rest assured I am not loving her more, or spending more time with her over you. I am learning being a mother is not a piece of cake.
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