The Non-Saint.

This morning, after a long struggle of getting myself and small children dressed, I finally pulled into the gym parking lot and exhaled.

What’s so hard about getting yourself, a two-year-old, and an 8-month-old dressed? They’re just kids, right? Well … every time I turned around, Asher was putting something in the dryer and turning it on — shoes, dish cloths, random objects. He was opening the refrigerator, putting something in the toilet, banging on the computer keys, or trying to open our front door and run away. If you still don’t understand, you are welcome to borrow him for an hour — but it has to be an hour in which you are trying to get ready to go somewhere, cook a meal, or complete a thought. Otherwise it won’t count.

So anyway, right when I was gathering my stuff and getting ready to unload the kids, I got a text from Maverick’s teacher saying that he was sick and needed to go home. I took a deep breath and put the van in reverse, saying goodbye to the gym and my “me” time.

Some people choose to live a life of service. Monks, nuns, people in ministry and medicine. Those people are saints. I am not a saint. I really struggle to live a life of service. Part of me wants to serve, but a bigger part of me just wants everyone to go away so I can do what I want to do. JUST LET ME GO TO ZUMBA CLASS, FOR THE LOVE. Just let me BREATHE.

I keep reading all these articles about motherhood and how it’s a constant sacrifice; a nonstop setting aside of your needs to meet the needs of your children. There is a balance to that, of course, but when children are small they require an awful lot of sacrificing. 

An. Awful. Lot.

There are times when my sacrifices are met with grateful thank yous or big hugs, or an 8-month-old’s voice yelling Mmmmmmmmmmmmm! which I am pretty sure means Mama! but who can say for sure, but the majority of the time I am met with a toilet full of baby wipes instead.

I guess the point of this is simply to say, some parts of motherhood do not come easily for me. Some parts just suck. But I think I’m pretty much a rockstar at a few things, and this allows me to hold onto the hope that one day when all three of my children have all of their teeth and know how to use the toilet by themselves I will morph into an amazing saint. They will call me Mother Harmony and I will never yell.

3 thoughts on “The Non-Saint.

  1. I have been reading thru a few of your blog posts and as a retired mom, it makes me smile, laugh and “oh dear” in fond memory.
    As a grandma, I can promise you that your time spent here will prepare you for when you can play more, work less and spend plenty of you-time … thinking about, remembering and laughing at your memories.
    But it's bittersweet.


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