I started this blog in 2010 when Maverick was a toddler. I was so overwhelmed with the stress of balancing motherhood and my career that I felt like if I didn’t write about it, I would straight up lose my mind. Since then, I’ve used my writing to channel emotional energy to keep me from doing irrational and terrible things. If you are a long-time reader, then you know the interesting experiences my children have put me through, and if you just found me … then welcome.

Until I became a mother, my writing material was lacking. Now I have so much to say I can’t keep up with it, mostly because every time I start to write someone gets an earthworm in their boot or puts something up their nose that does not belong. I have always hated being interrupted. It’s one of my biggest pet peeves, and yet, I have three children.

That is just the beginning of the black hole of juxtapositions in my life.

So much of my day gets caught up in this whirlwind of other people and what they need. I have written, and will write, countless entries about giving myself daily to creatures who often do not thank me, and how hard it can be to remain constant despite the tantrums, the poop, and the food on the floor. But there are so many moments that make what I do make sense.

The other night Maverick and I had this conversation:

Maverick: “What’s the prettiest thing in the world you’ve ever seen?”

Me: “Hmmm … I don’t know. I’ll have to think about that. 
What’s the prettiest thing you have ever seen?”

Maverick: “You.”

Later on, he presented me with this. I said I wanted to keep it forever, so he promptly erased it.

Before I put him to bed, he looked at me and said, “Thank you for being my mommy.” 

In that moment I had a flash of every good and bad thing the past almost-six years have brought. Every emotional meltdown and temper tantrum and mistake and triumph, every time I wondered what was wrong with my kid or what was wrong with me. I am flawed and sometimes kind of a disaster, but I’m a damn good mother.

I hugged him and whispered, “It is a PRIVILEGE to be your mother.” And it is.