That Defining Moment of Motherhood

There's a defining moment for every mom. That instant, that millisecond that forever remains with us. That one thing that makes us question if we're really fit to be mothers. It might be the day the two-year old stair-steps up the vanity drawers, stands in her brother's sink, and downs half a bottle of Avengers mouthwash while singing her ABC's. Or, maybe, it's the day when the school calls for the second time in a month, "We looked in RJ and Gigi's backpacks, and they don't have lunches. They're not signed up for hot lunch. Can you bring them food?" Maybe it's the day your six-year old cuts his thumb on a razor blade trying to empty the trash because you forgot to tell him to dump the can, not to handpick each item from it.

For me, my defining moment wasn't one of those moments. I can shake those off, even give a half-hearted chuckle. My moment?

The day I realized my house is too filthy for me to have a housekeeper.

I hear you: "Oh, we have to pick-up before our housekeeper comes too. It's no big deal!" you shrug and smile unapologetically.

I'll tell you like I tell my students: parse the language. My house is too filthy for me to have a housekeeper. Not too messy. Not too many toys. Filth.

Fluff bunnies have reproduced like, well, rabbits. The cats have puked one too many times for me to pretend it just happened this morning while I was work. There are Cheerios in the couch; chocolate milk rings on the tables; and (I promise I'm not fibbing even a little bit) last week, the possum was licking my patio table by the glow of my kitchen light. Sand has overtaken my tile floors, and we don't live anywhere near the beach (Do kids manufacture the stuff? Is that where it really comes from?)

"I'm really sorry," I texted my housekeeper, "but we're just not at a place in our lives when we can make appropriate plans for you to come."

"K. Thx," came the immediate reply. Short, to the point, non-judgmental even. But I know she was judging. I heard it in her voice when she told me she didn't have time to get upstairs because there was "just a lot to do" downstairs. I saw it in her eyes when she asked me to buy more cleaning supplies (We keep our extras in the storm shelter, I swear. I really do own a bottle of Windex.).

Last week and the week before, I worked four out of five nights until past nine--either at my real job or my volunteer job with my kids' school. My house isn't a disaster. It isn't a wreck. It's not even a mess.

It is just plain filthy. And I fired the housekeeper out of personal shame.

Today, I gave Gigi a can of Lysol wipes and her brother free reign with the vacuum cleaner. They did pretty good work.

Next week, I'll work four out of five nights plus Saturday. On Sunday, we'll go to church and take naps.

There's a another defining moment for each of us mothers. That moment when we realize that what we do accomplish makes so much more of a difference than what we don't. Last week, when I should have been vacuuming, I worked on accreditation for the little Lutheran school that will help raise two contributing, caring adults. When I should have been hunting cat yak with foamy cleaner, I taught bankruptcy law to future colleagues who might someday represent the next emerging-from-insolvency Radio Shack (how is that place still operating?).

There are and will be so many defining moments of motherhood. My kids are still so young. My goal? To make the things I do accomplish define more than the things I don't.

Holding On & Letting Go: Christmas 2014

Yesterday, we made an early morning run to the grocery store. "Hurry! Get in your seats! We have to beat the ice!" I barked at the littles. A winter storm was imminent, and we needed kitty litter, desperately. I carried Gigi across the parking lot, her feet clad in feet 'jamas and pink velour kitty slippers. As is our custom, RJ grabbed my hand as he exited the swagger wagon. There we were: me in purple sweatpants, Gigi in her pink 'jamas, and RJ in mismatched flannel bottoms and a Thunder shirt.  RJ is getting taller, and smarter, and smarter mouthed. He has a quick wit, and a goofy little boy sense of humor, particularly when it comes to bottoms, toots and poops. Most days, when we get to the sidewalk in a parking lot, he drops my hand and dances ahead, just a few feet. Yesterday, he held on. He held my hand in the parking lot, on the sidewalk, and in the store (until he realized he could still ride in the cart, and riding is always easier on the legs). I simply held onto him. 

The days that he will be my little boy are growing increasingly shorter. With every video game, he slides closer to being a big boy, and with every movie, he learns one more snarky comeback. 

For now, he's most assuredly still my little boy, the little one who was excited for Christmas, excited for presents, excited for candy, lasagna, and playtime: 

This was when we told him he could watch Cousin Eddy's dog blarf under the table one more time. 

Rudolph gets thirsty; this year, we made reindeer water and waited for the magic. 

Video games are fun, but there's nothing quite like a little boy with his planes...

and his cars...

and just a bit of baby sister silliness.

Of course, this one is only three. 

She's three going on thirteen, 

and while she's letting go of a lot of things these days,

it will be a few years

 before she lets go of me. (Update: The littlest one, just burst into the room, singing, "Let it go! Let it goooooo! Can't hold me back anymoooore!" to raid my shoe rack for some slippers--three going on thirteen.). 

There were some serious discussions on Christmas Eve. 

Most of those serious discussions concerned whether I was really going to make Gigi wear a baby dress. 

I did. 

Because she is a baby!

Though, she and her brother feel awfully grown up when they work as a team. 

This pretty lady helped keep me sane over a five-day weekend with the littles working as a team. 

And Santa Daddy made a secret delivery, surprising all of us. 

An inch of snow is still exciting when you're six. 

It's equally as exciting when you're three. 

Particularly when you let go of your irrational fears and hold on to the magic that is being a kid. (Gigi was afraid of snow last year). 

We didn't get the icy mix that was predicted yesterday. We did get another day trapped at home. RJ played some video games, and Gigi tried on a hundred different looks. I held onto the last official day of Christmas break and onto the two littles that are still little for now. 

I don't think I'll let go.