Life and stuff

thehouseoftrue

Being someone’s mother has been nothing like I thought it would be. These little beings are tough. With their own personalities, dreams, fears, likes, dislikes…you name it. They are people for crying out loud and are nothing like me and everything like me all in one. There is no manual for how to do things right, and I hope I am not scaring them too much with my errors in day to day life. I try. I fail. And sometimes I score. It’s a crap shoot really.

I forget that me being an only child is so different than how my kids are living out their childhoods. I never had to share with a nagging brother or sister. I never had to go on endless car trips to watch my brother or sister dance or play soccer. I never had to come home from school and realize someone had been in my room taking my stuff while I was not there. I never had to give in first just so my brother or sister would stop crying. Either way, both childhoods have great points. And really, all that a kid really needs is to know that he/she is loved.

But then again, I think about how wonderful that is for them. I love how they can play school with each other, take a ride into town on their bikes. Cuddle in bed with each other and read to the littlest one. I love how they can count on one another when they need to. All that they have from and with each other is so special. They might not think that now, but eventually. My oldest said to me one day that I just didn’t get it. And in that one second I did get it. All she wanted was a few minutes alone without her little sister asking her 1,000 questions. I got it. And I made it happen for her, I delivered her some peace and quiet. But I still wouldn’t change the route that they are on. I love that they actually have someone to nag, bicker, fight, love, hug and laugh with. That is just so amazing. I wouldn’t change that for anything in the world. I think it is teaching them life skills that they can hopefully use when they are older. Plus a loud house is normal…right?

It’s all good.

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