My littlest one (for now) carries around all his cars in a gigantic Mr. Potato Head. He washes them almost every day, is fond of putting them in unsuspecting shoes, and likes to unzip my pillow and stuff them inside when I am making dinner or doing something else.
I care about Mr. Potato Head.
I care that he cares about Mr. Potato Head.
Someone (the older one) just opened the door to his room and he’s sneaking to me. I should get mad but I don’t have the energy. He says he needs one more kiss and one more hug. He is my little Frances.
Today I lost my temper a few times. Like when they took off all their clothes to run around as “naked boys!” and that’s not so bad but does the two year old NEED his diaper off? I cannot handle bare butt sitting on all kinds of surfaces today. Please. At least keep your diaper on. Please.
I hate it when I lose my temper. Like really lose it. It happens and while it’s happening and after it happened I think, is this me? What is going on? And I’m sad.
I am a mom. I am not a good mom sometimes. My house is covered in crumbs. I have 305 unfinished projects. I get tired way too easily. But I am a mom.
I am a writer too. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. Almost all the time it doesn’t feel like it. These little ones, my husband, this house, my emotions, fill up so much of my head and my heart that it feels like there isn’t much left to give–to pretend people.
Pretend people are important. I think really important sometimes. They’ve helped me through a lot of rough times; they’ve made me laugh; they’ve made me cry; they’ve made me understand things I couldn’t understand otherwise. I love pretend people.
But. In the end, real people are more important than pretend people.
I am trying to let myself go. Let myself be who I am instead of who I think I should be.
I don’t know how it’s going to end up but at least I’m trying.