Mommy Moments

Inside Out


On the way home from a very long day last week my husband turned to me and asked: “do I really have to go to ….(social engagement we were both waaaay too tired to attend).

I of course answered: ”Nope, I’m exhausted. Let’s skip it and go home!”

Husband: “I wasn’t really asking, I know I have to go…If you were a good wife, you’d tell me to go.”

Me: “If I was a good wife, I’d have homemade dinners every night, a beautiful garden, a really clean house and children with impeccable manners…and a lot of other stuff too.”

Husband: with a huge roll of his eyes “Oh my gosh … in what decade?”

Me: emphatically, “Right now, there are people who do it, I swear!”

Husband: “Like who? Name one!”

Me: “Well, this lady on the internet"

Husband: “Yeah, it happens so rarely for people that when it does, they post it on the internet. When it happens for you, you post it too”

Me: “No, some people just make it work all the time!!”

Husband: “You know you really are crazy.”

Yes, well I probably am. But this conversation got me thinking. I had seen a video on the internet that morning that had got me thinking along these lines. It was a beautiful twenty-something mom of four kids who had a video all about capturing “everyday moments.” She was beautifully dressed, had a great manicure, and a beautifully decorated home. The video showed her wiping down her immaculately clean kitchen counters and then photographing her well-dressed children who were playing in the middle of their completely clean bedroom. Just watching it, made me cringe when I thought about my messy, somewhat dressed children who were playing in their very messy rooms, while I was cleaning our very messy house (with my far inferior manicure!) And then it hit me. This “video” was on this woman’s website on which she was selling her particular scrapbooking system. Of course it looked perfect. It was a promotional video! I knew this in my rational mind all along, but my emotional mind was still quick to judge my real life not only by someone else’s standard, but by someone else’s staged standard.

I kept thinking about this throughout the day; wondering why I was so convinced that everyone else was doing a better job at what I perceive as my shortcomings. As I was walking up to our house just after dark, I realized that from the street with the lights in the living room on; I could see into our front windows. From the street perspective, all you can see is the top of the bookcases, a few of the pictures, and the lights. The impression was pretty nice. You can’t see the spots on the carpet, or the toys all over the floor, or the dirty dinner dishes still on the table. If you only see it from the outside looking in; you can imagine that the rest is really, really great. My rational mind knows that this is true of everyone. From a distance you can’t always see the tiny wrinkles or the small imperfections. I know that every life has its challenges and that no one makes it to the end without going through something that brings them to their knees. And yet…..I still sometimes fall into the trap of believing that everyone else is doing better than I am.

The next thing that came to mind was a quote that one of our former Relief Society presidents had shared with us at church. (I don’t have the exact source or quote – but I’ll give you the gist) She said that we should be thankful for our messy homes because they are a tangible reminder that our houses are full of life. And it’s true. If there were some horrible accident tomorrow, and I had no husband or little ones to mess up my house, I would have a beautifully clean home……and I would be utterly miserable.

My house is full of life. Wonderful, messy, real life. The kind of life that is two year olds and raspberries on tummies. The kind of life that is hectic mornings and lost homework and crying third graders trying to find their binder reminders on the way out the door. There are moments that I’m really good at being the mom. (really, really rare I know) And there are moments that I will never be proud of. There are hilarious moments and messy moments and moments full of vomit or poop. There are the moments that are completely mundane and full of laundry and more laundry and more laundry; and there are the moments I don’t like to remember when I’m sitting in an emergency room unable to get the smell of my child’s singed flesh out of my mind. There are moments of prayer and moments of peace and moments of sibling warfare. But they are my moments. And they make up my life. All of them.

Of course they are going to look different from the outside. I try very hard to make it look as nice as I can. But, it helps a lot when you can’t see the messy parts on the floor. Every real life has messy parts. Parts we don’t want to be judged on. And mine are probably different from yours. My triumphs and struggles are uniquely mine. But I guess I’m coming to understand that we all have them. That is the great common denominator. Everyone’s house looks different when you’re on the street outside looking in.
  The Hot Dog Rules
Tonight dinner consisted of: a hot dog, a bun, and ketchup. Here are the rules that resulted from just one meal: (this was back when I just had a three-year-old & a one-year-old)


1. No touching your sister during dinner

    Sub-rules this not being clear enough:
     a. No poking your sister during dinner
     b. No biting your sister during dinner
     c. No pulling your sister’s hair at dinner
     d. No grabbing your sister during dinner

2. No playing under the table at dinner

3. No dipping your hair in ketchup

4. No dipping your sister’s hair in ketchup

5. You must keep your food on the table during dinner

6. If you want more ketchup you must ask for it, you may not take it off of your sister’s hot dog and wipe it on your own

7. No throwing food, EVER (period.)

8. Singing and dancing and growling are allowed at dinner if you stay in your seat

9. There is absolutely no screaming or shrieking at dinner

10. No taking food off of your sister’s plate

11. No grabbing your sister’s food and smashing it in half

12. If your mouth is too full you may take the extra food out and put in on your plate. But you may not take spit-out food off of your sister’s plate and eat it see rule #10

13. If you want a drink from Mommy’s cup, you must first chew and swallow the food that is in your mouth

14. You may not fish the ice-cubes out of Mommy’s cup with your hands because you don’t like water with ice in it

15. No sitting on the table during dinner

16. No feet on the table during dinner

17. When Mom starts counting to five you had better just finish your dinner!

When Your Heart No Longer Beats in Your Body


One of the most surprising things about being pregnant for the first time (besides the fact that I was pregnant), was that phase after I was done being morning sick and started getting sick of being big. For the first time in my life I felt physically vulnerable. Not that I was a star athlete before I was pregnant, but the realization hit me that if someone wanted to mug me, all they would have to do is walk up to me, tap me on the head and I would tip over and roll around for five minutes before I could get up and stand again. Running away was definitely not a viable option at this point. It was an unsettling emotion.

Fast forward to the delivery room when they place my beautiful baby girl in my arms; all of a sudden I knew deep down that this feeling of vulnerability would never truly go away. It came over me all at once, that my heart no longer beat in my own body; it was beating in hers. A whole new vista opened up to me. Whatever happens to her, happens to me and there are a million new ways for my heart to be broken. What if someone is ever mean to her? What if she encounters a bully? What if a boy breaks her heart, or the college of her dreams fails to see her genius? Then there are the really scary things, like what if she grows up and wants to drive a car…..on the streets….with other drivers present.

And then, children two, three and four were born, and instead of the portions of my heart being divided equally between them, I just grew more hearts. And those hearts weren’t really mine either, because of course they beat in their bodies. Which is why when I am confronted with angry, defiant, belligerent children who are completely sure that I am making ridiculous rules for the sheer pleasure of torturing them, I often look them straight in the eyes and say “because my heart beats in your body.” And I endure the eye rolling and the sighing and even the arguing. I know that it just sounds crazy. I also know that someday, they will hold a very small person in their own arms. They will spend a quiet moment. And it will hit them like a ton of bricks and they will know exactly what I meant all those years before. And I will just sit back and smile, because the most humbling aspect of my own realization was remembering that I am someone else’s child.