Notes to Weird Mothers

Mothers are weird. Not just I-have-barf-on-my-shirt-and-I-don't-care weird, but weird in other ways.

Ways like:

Sacrifice. I don't mean I'm giving up my glamorous day job as a model to stay home and check the newly potty trained toddler's briefs for racing stripes, if you know what I mean, but sacrifice as in, everything I do revolves/involves/is for my kids. Everything I do. That's right. And there's no Bryan Addams or Kevin Costner in tights either. Just me. Even the coffee I drink is for them. For their safety and well being. We sacrifice and dedicate and breathe for them.

And we like it.

Don't you find that weird?

I LIKE working an extra shift so I can buy snow cones at the corner snow cone hut once a week. (Yes, this kind of crazy spending involves strategic planning. Maybe you have jiggle room in your budget for snow cones, Nikes, or paying the utility bill. I do not).

I LIKE not buying myself a gym membership to whip my sorry patooty into shape so that I can afford swim lessons for the little tyke. I'm just going to name my muffin top, Gloria, and learn to love her, for she is squishy and quite dependable, even if she doesn't look good in mid-rise jeans anymore.

I LIKE using Suave shampoo instead of salon brands so that I can afford the organic milk, with which they will use on their organic cereal, leave on the table, and end up washing it down the sink anyway. That milk.

I LIKE spending my only day off sitting in the scorching heat while my pre-teen swims at a meet/middler has a dance recital/toddler takes over the playground.

I LIKE driving the minivan I said I'd never drive back in 2005 because it has room for my kids, plus their rowdy friends, instead of the Jeep Wrangler I only lust after slightly.

I LIKE learning new ways to hide the squash/zucchini/sweet potatoes in the nightly goulash.

I LIKE eating everybody else's leftover crusts of bread and calling it my breakfast.

I LIKE playing Star Wars Go-Fish twenty times a day and letting him win only sometimes.

I LIKE the sound of Spongebob Square Pants in the background while I cook dinner. For Sponge Bob is light hearted and makes me smile in spite of myself.

I LIKE pickles and cheese for lunch because there's only enough lunch meat left for one sandwich and someone will probably graciously save me the crusts anyway.

I LIKE knowing that someday my house will be clean and white and spotless, but also quiet and boring, and at the same time, hopefully not too miles away, my grandkids will be pooping and shouting and barfing and throwing fits in the craft aisle. I LIKE knowing that at those moments, my kids will be thinking, "I love my mom - how did she DO this? I'm going nuts!" and I will send them silent prayers of support and understanding, while I eat croissants and chocolate.

I LIKE that while my days are long and sometimes the same over and over, like Groundhog Day, but without the humor sometimes, the years are long and these child raising times are like childhood: gone all too quickly, never to come back.

So while I can, I sacrifice a little, Gloria and I. All too soon, we'll be alone and have plenty of time to go to the gym, eat a whole sandwich, and plate the zucchini lovingly on a crystal platter instead of hiding it in the creamy chicken casserole.

Until then, I'll just be weird.