Somethings I Wish I Was

Since becoming a single mom, or actually a mom period I find myself watching other moms. At Bible class, in the grocery store, at restaurants, in the park...I am always observing other moms with their kids. Sometimes I admire these moms, with their calm and positive reactions to misbehaving children. They seem to have their stuff together. Their diaper bag is perfectly packed with all the necessities, they have on matching clothes AND makeup, their kids all have shoes on BOTH feet. These moms don't seem human to me. They have superhero qualities. I have to admit, I also spend sometime judging some moms too. These moms look like they haven't slept in days, their kids are dirty and loud, they are usually either not paying attention to their kids or yelling at them. They often don't have a diaper bag at all. In fact the only thing they seem to have is their smartphone which they barely look up from. I see myself as somewhere in the middle of these two categories. There are plenty of things I need to improve on and somethings I have down to an art, but there are somethings that I wish I was.



I wish I was graceful. I see moms who seem to float into stores with their double stroller and they browse around as if they have all day. I see moms with their infants on their hips as if the child is weightless. On the other side they have a toddler holding their hand. They move at a steady pace with all the grace in the world. Ok, this ain't me! I'm the chick who gets the stroller stuck in the door, runs over anything in the way, trips, falls, bumps into stuff. I usually have Carson on my hip a huge diaper bag on the other shoulder and most of the time I am chasing Reese. I'm the mom who manages, but doesn't make it look very pretty. You know in football when the quaterback throws the ball to a receiver, he bobbles the ball maybe even deflects it, maybe a huge lineman accidentally catches it and rumbles into the endzone for a touchdown? Yeah, I'm that huge lineman. I get the job done, score the 6 points; but it certainly isn't an attractive play. There are many times like when my stroller wheel is caught on the door at wal-mart, or I fall UP some concrete steps while loading the car, or I look like I am about to drop everything in my hands while I unlock the front door that I wish I could be more graceful. I want to be like that floating mom. I want to be the receiver who makes an amazing catch on the tips of his fingers and trots effortlessly into the endzone.





I also wish I was organized. No one loves organizing more than me. I am a nerd. I love my Sharpies, calenders, Excel spreadsheets, baskets, and labels. I like the IDEA of organizing. Keeping things in order is a whole nother story. That mom that has the diaper bag perfectly packed with everything she needs makes me so jealous. I want that bag! I want those things in my bag. If Reese skins her knee, I want to have a band-aid handy. If I need Carson's shot record, I want to know exactly where it is. I try, I really do. I put forth a ton of effort to organize and stay on top of it,, but it never works. I am the mom digging to the bottom of the bag in the middle of worship services trying to find the snacks that are more than likely still on the counter where I fixed them that morning. I'm the one who never has the wipe container filled up. When I need an extra outfit for the kids, it isn't there. My car is a wreck, there are toys, goldfish crackers, and dead flowers all over the floorboards. There are clothes piled to the ceiling where I have been going from house to house to save on gas. I try to stay in Southaven if I have things to do up there so I'm not driving back and forth from Arkabutla. My room is clean, but I have no idea where anything is. I live with my grandmother, so my stuff just got put where there was space. I want to be organized and resourceful. I want to be on time. I want to remember appointments. I am always rushing , which makes the craziness even crazier. I always look like I just ran a marathon when I arrive somewhere usually 10-20 minutes late. I try to look put together, but I don't. I look like I was together at one point, but came unraveled at some point. That point may have been when I spent 20 minutes looking for keys or my cell phone which was in my pocket the whole time. Maybe it was when we were walking out the door and Carson has a blow out diaper, or Reese falls in the dirt. Possibly, the unraveling occurred when I drove 10 minutes up the road and realized I forgot the paperwork I needed for an appointment or my wallet. Again, I manage, but it most certainly is not a pleasant sight. It is the epitome of chaos. It's entertaining enough for a reality show, but not what you would call organized.

I wish I was more patient and positive. No, I don't scream at my kids. I don't ignore them while they wreak havoc on the playground. I don't jerk them up and pop their bottom when they misbehave. I do find myself saying "No!" or "Stop!" a lot. No, not a lot. CONSTANTLY. While I was in Texas last week (which I plan on blogging about soon), I noticed my cousin Shana Kaye didn't automatically give those type of commands. She asked nicely for Reese to not play the piano at 7:00 am. She found other things for Carson to keep him from pulling the XBOX out on the floor. She was very positive and patient when dealing with my kids and hers. We do fine at home, but in public I get anxious and feel the impending breakdown from both kids coming so I get flustered and rushed. I don't count to 3 before I say anything. I get caught up in trying to avoid the climax of the fit throwing and forget any methods I have learned and just want to get out of the situation. I have left people's homes, grocery stores, Bible class, and restaurants because the kids are ganging up on me and it's not worth the work to continue to stay there. My kids aren't bad. In fact, they are very good. Yeah, Reese seems to be running on a motor and reminds me of the Tasmanian Devil on Looney Tunes; but she is a good girl. She has a tender heart, and is eager to please. She just has focus issues. Carson is 11 months...enough said.


So while I do a good job, I would like to do a better job at somethings. I'm a work in progress!