What I shouldn't be doing on a Friday night

What I shouldn't be doing is watching my 3rd grader flee from his room at bedtime. Face red and tear streaked, he pleads, "Can we please move?!" 

I assume the tough, one-day-will-be-man is afraid of the monster undoubtedly residing in his closet.

I assume on a Friday night I'll be doing closet checks and tucking children in to bed for the umpteenth time.

So I'm stunned when my question to why we need to move is met with a string of nearly indecipherable words that sounded something like, "They always tell me I need plastics surgery. He asks, 'who looks better' and they never say me," he said through tears. "They say I'm ugly and need plastic surgery... that I look worse because I have freckles. They tell me everyday. Different people, they compare us everyday."

It all spilled out, in the hallway, on a Friday night. 
And every foot-dragging, week day morning; every "I hate school, I just don't like it." suddenly made more sense.

I'm sad to say I knew the day he was born we'd tackle this monster. 
When fluorescent lights above the hospital bed gleamed against his copper hair, I knew.
The summer the Texas sun drew out those freckles, I knew it was coming. 

Photo by Capturing Me Photography

Nevermind that he's handsome. 
Nevermind that he's funny, with wit, creative, helpful, an ace on the soccer field. 
Nevermind that he loves Jesus and Michael Jackson. 
He has every Pokémon memorized and will battle Beyblades until dawn if he could - he isn't unlike his peers. 
He isn't like his peers either.


And kids sadly ... many of us, sadly, don't yet realize how beautiful it is to be unique. How boring it would be if we weren't. And what a pity it is if we can't see beauty in what's been fearfully and wonderfully made.

It's by divine design that freckles cascade from the bridge of his nose along his cheeks. It's no fluke that my copper-topped boy has true blue eyes. He is literally one in a million.

Unfortunately this monster can't be taken down in a Friday night. It'll take all of us, determination, consistency and love to conquer this beast but it's one that most definitely needs slaying. It's not imaginary, it's waiting for our children everyday.

Soccer Mom-ish

Once upon a time, in my naivety, I believed I'd be the put together mom - a pencil skirt and heels - picking my kids up from school after a day in the office.

I'd be the room mom, the team mom ... the best mom.
I would have dinner on the table at 6pm. The whole family would sit down and enjoy the healthy, homemade feast as we had meaningful conversations.
My dream was to be the soccer mom.
I wished to be the homemaker.
I would dress like Jessica Day every day if it were at all practical. It's not.
If school pick up and drop off doesn't require leaving the car who would know you're still in pajamas?

But know - A day might come when your Kindergartner is stung by a bee just before the final bell and you must retrieve him from the nurses station. -- it's a different sort of walk of shame.
My husband often works late. Soccer and Little League practice pull us in different directions three nights a week. There is no convenient dinner time. When we are able to sit down at the dinner table there's much less meaningful conversations and many more bodily functions than I imagined. That's dinner with three boys still learning how to be a gentleman.
None of it is quite what I imagined and with my years and three kids I've gained a little wisdom. David Allen's quote may say it best, "You can do anything but you can't do everything."
As a domestic goddess I have to balance my many roles and importantly still, be me.

I don't want to lose myself striving to be the idyllic soccer mom stereotype.
I don't want to hurt my marriage identifying myself only as a mom. There's a balance I'm striving to find.
I'm a hard-working man's wife and a mother of three. I'm all that that entails and more.

I'm a woman learning how to give herself grace. I am finding a balance in the chaos and joy of simplifying life and relinquishing mom guilt. I'm discovering a sweet spot between Pinterest-Mom and Amazon Prime-Mom – content to be Soccer Mom-ish.