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My aunt and I had a conversation a few months ago and I asked her an important question.

“Do you wish your kids were little again now that they are grown and gone?”  I asked.

My aunt Theresa and lil Savannah

“Nope.” She responded.

NOPE! My heart burst…with joy!

This may offend those of you that are born to be mommies and love to be mommies and wrap your life around parenting and fulfilling your role as a mom.  I am not sorry.  This is just me.

I love being a mom.  But I love me too.  I mean, like selfish me.  Like I hesitate when someone asks me to do something even though I have promised my kids to do something.  I love me time.

Yes I love my kids smiles, hugs and laughter.

And the whining, crying, fits and tantrums drive me up a wall.

I have been so worried that I will regret wishing them to be older,  thinking that I will want these moments back.

I do not want them back with my sixteen year old son.  Or my ten-year old daughter.  Whom I both love tremendously.  I love them getting bigger, having conversations, planning their lives. I like em’ big.

Yesterday, among the holiday craziness, my sadness over a loss in the family, one poopy diaper after another, babies that wouldn’t nap and the good ol’ Texas HEAT I truly wanted to get in my car and drive away.  Far, far away.  By myself.

My messy home office.

Today, my husband (who already travels a lot) is spending the day with his father working on their joint business.  I get to spend the day with my kids.  Yippee.  SEE!? Shouldn’t I be happy about that? Shouldn’t I be jumping for joy and planning spectacular activities and fun meals and snacks? Uh, no.  Not today.  As a matter of fact, the two babies are BOTH napping right now. BOTH OF THEM. And instead of tackling my many chores, one of which is cleaning up this desk of mine, I am writing.  And trying not to open the wine bottle.  I mean, it is only 1:30pm.  Wait…let me research where it may be five o’clock….OK, so in London it is 6:30pm.  I can pretend right?

Not everyday is like this.  I do tell myself this.  As a matter of fact, some days are rock star days.  OK, well some hours are rock star hours.  Who in the hell has rock star DAYS with toddlers, babies, pre-teens and teens all under one roof? If someone does they are slipping sleep aids in those kids meals, I am telling you.

But here is what I am also telling you.  IT IS OK.  My children are clothed, fed, and loved.  Everyday.  Even when I scream like I am in a poltergeist re-make movie, they know they are loved.  Even when I completely flip and throw things, they know they are loved.  Even when I say something terrible, and have to apologize after I have thrown my own crying fit in my closet, they know they are loved.

I am not a terrible mom.  I am a great mom.  I think.  My kids say so anyhow and even buy me those syrupy mothers day cards that say so.  And I do love planning spectacular activities and meals and snacks.  Just so that none of the kids will like or agree on any one thing and I end up frustrated and heading toward the wine bar.

I would still give my life up for any of my kids.  With no hesitation.

But, I also am so thankful that they grow up.  And knowing that I am not the only one (thanks Aunt Theresa!), eases my heart a bit, knowing that it is OK to look forward to my empty nest.  To planning trips with my husband…just him and I.  To running around the house naked if I want (ok so when my youngest moves out, things under my clothes may not represent body parts anymore…may keep my clothes on at that point).

And I look forward to being a grandparent.  And getting my hands on those grand kids and teaching them how to give their parents hell.  Oh pay back….

In the meantime..I am going to finish laundry and water my tomato plants.  Hopefully before one or both of the babies wake up.  And count down the minutes till five pm.  Who said five pm was the time to start drinking anyhow?

Cheers!

We did have some fun yesterday.  At least that’s what the pictures say.

Nyla & Paige…getting along..for the moment

Savannah..not even having one of her fits