good mom.

I think I'm a good mom.

I always carry three water bottles. My car is usually overloaded with items my girls find impossible to leave home without. My kitchen floor has not been mopped in a couple of weeks. I still stay in their rooms until they fall asleep. My three-year-old is not potty trained. My six-year-old watches TV shows geared for tweens. I warm two cups of apple juice every morning while I pour my cup of coffee. I try to model that kindness & effort count more than being the best. I go overboard with preparations for birthday parties. I yell. I smile. I show my frustration. I hover. I encourage taking chances. I embrace every single part of what I do as a mom. As a person.

Most days I think I'm doing a pretty good job.

And then I read things, hear things, see things that make me second guess myself. I try my best to shake my head at the condescending articles spewed on social media. I try my best to not take others actions personally. I try my best focus on how I care for my family. But sometimes I just can't hush the nagging voice in the back of my head that makes me contemplate being a good mom, a good person.

I consider myself lucky. I am a stay-at-home mom. Occupation? Fill in the blank: "homemaker". Yup, that's me. Ever take one of those personality questionnaires where you have to prioritize your roles? Yeah, "mom" tops my list.

And I get put down for that.

Like it's bad or something. I don't get it. I don't know how many times I have heard, "I don't know how you can stay home." That single comment stings every. single. time. Maybe it's because I struggle with that exact thought every day. I know the misconceptions about what stay at home moms do. Immediately, my wall is up. Defense steps up to the plate. The need to justify. The need to feel like I measure up. The need to explain. The need to still fit in. To be enough. Why do I let one comment get under my skin? Why does it make me feel less than when I am trying so hard to be enough. Why do I care. I wish I didn't. But I do.

I smile anyway. Laugh off the question. Remark that we all do what we need to do for our family. And the conversation will turn to something I can no longer relate to.

Keep breathing.

Tomorrow's lunch is packed & her book bag sits ready by the back door.

Energy was high at bedtime tonight. As she laid out her carefully chosen outfit that matches her new, size 2 sneakers, her faced beamed. Outside, we could hear Clay's car pulling in the driveway. Home from a very long day at work Clay was greeted by his daughter eager to discuss her preparations for her first day of kindergarten. "Daddy! Dad! Daddy!" she flung open the door as he pulled up the driveway. She still hangs on him like she did when she was a toddler, wrapping her arms around his waist, stepping on top his feet, challenging him to move against her embrace. Her excitement was contagious. Clay & I beamed back at her as she reviewed her teacher's name & the other students sharing her assigned table. There was no doubt, she was ready.

I watched as she brushed her teeth & wiped her face. I watched as she got ready for bed & tossed her clothes down the laundry shoot. I watched as she lined up her stuffed animals on her bed in a systematic order (inherited OCD from me). She was so self sufficient, responsible. Growing up. I found my self staring at her eyes. Still the same deep brown, wide-open eyes she's had since she was a baby. She's just so beautiful, so curiously beautiful. I pray she stays that way, curious with a big, beautiful heart.

I watched as she scanned her books for a bedtime story, slightly bracing myself for an over-read Disney or Barbie book. Laying back on her floor, I closed my eyes and sighed. A few seconds later, I felt her poke my hand with a hard cover book. To my surprise she chose the picture book I made for her about her birth. Yep, still my baby.

We squeezed onto the little twin bed that I once slept in and I began to read the story about the day "Emmersen Lee came to be". She nuzzled her nose against my cheek, "Mom, I really love you." I reached out for her hand. She drapped her long, skinny legs over mine. "I love you, too, buddy."

We finished her story like that, holding hands and legs intertwined. Part of me wanted to lay there all night. Just holding her like I used to, in the wee hours of the morning, sleep deprived in the rocking chair, feeling my baby breath.

In the morning, I will keep breathing as I drop her off at school. I'll smile & bask in her enthusiasm. I'll hold her giddiness close in my thoughts. And I will keep breathing as I drive away knowing I did my best to prepare her...because her tremendous love told me so.

I can't stop it.

It's been a while. Over a year, actually. A lot of life has happened. Great moments, memorable ones. Moments of pure and utter joy. Moments where I feel like I'm getting things right. Really crappy, almost unbearable to wade through hard moments. Moments when my shoulders collapse and my head falls in my hands as I fight to hold back tears of disappointment in myself. And just spending the time moments. Moments I should have paid more attention to instead of the attention I was giving the to-do list. Moments I wish I could have a "do over". But that's not how it works, right? Time never stops.

My oldest starts kindergarten next week.

I have had a lump in my throat since I received the first email regarding the upcoming school year. I'm not ready. Not ready to let go. It may sound crazy, I know. I know parents who are ready to pull out the pom poms. They can't wait to see that yellow bus grinding up the road. I'm a bit freaked out.

Worry.

I worry if I did a good enough job teaching her about the hows, the whys, the whats, the whens. I worry I modeled the right way to be a good person & friend. Compassion, strength, empathy, confidence, understanding, willingness, honesty, grace, integrity. Did I do it right? God, I hope I did it right.