My kids are little, six and three. Hayden has hit the stage where he challenges everything I say. I say black; he says white. It isn’t sometimes. It is constantly. It’s a phase of pushing buttons and testing limits. Pemberley this last month has been owning that term “threenager.” By the end of the day, I feel like I’m a taxi driver who is emotionally exhausted and looks it. I’m trying to figure out how to have my six-year-old in afternoon sports while Pemberley naps. I feel pulled in a million different directions. They get out of half-day school at the same time in two different locations. So I’m either too early or too late. There have been days lately that I look in the mirror and think, “Where did I go?” I don’t have time or energy for a social life, really. In fact, the invites have stopped coming. Getting a little exercise is about all I can muster up for me time.
I had a vent session to my mom the other day and told her about my mini meltdown on the laundry room floor as I looked at the sea of laundry I needed to tackle. After my venting, she asked if she could come help me and I realized that, while it has been tough, I’m so grateful I can be alongside my kids through this phase and help form and direct them down the right path of knowing what is right and wrong. What a blessing. At the end of these crazy days, I’m able to tell them I love them. We can look into each other’s eyes and know it was a tough day but that I’m not going anywhere, ever. And that I love them more than the best chocolate ever made. That’s saying a lot. They know I believe in them and will stand alongside them until they figure it out and can confidently walk down the right path with heads held high. These are the bonds that form when you are in the trenches. Once we are through this stage, we will look at each other and hold each other tight. I will look at them thinking, “I knew you could do it.” They will look at me and know, “This is my mom. She loves me unconditionally and, no matter what, she will be there for me.”