I'm a Mom

Sometimes my children wipe some sort of slime on my purple sweater and it looks like a snail slid across my chest.
Sometimes I wear that slimed purple sweater into public places, not because I want to be a slob but because the trail is in a place I can't see.

Sometimes my children scream in the grocery store because I won't give them what they want, like cookies.
Sometimes I see the other people looking at the woman with the screaming children, and know they are wishing they could shop in peace. I wish I could shop in peace, too.

Sometimes I want to cuddle on the couch and watch a fun romantic movie with my husband, but the laundry still needs folded.
Sometimes he helps me as we watch the latest reality show, I count it as a date.

Sometimes there is an unidentifiable red splotch on the kitchen floor, but no one sticks to it.
Sometimes I don't mop for a really long time.
Sometimes the red splotch fades away carried in tiny parts on socks.
Sometimes I think that is gross and I mop.
Sometimes I think that is gross and want to mop, but there are books to be read, babies to be fed, and I'm the only one who sees the splotch.

I'm not perfect.

But as you look at this slimed woman with the screaming children who folded laundry into the night and hasn't mopped her kitchen in a while, remember

• she was slimed because she gave a child a hug or comforted a babe,
• she cares more about the character of her children than their momentary happiness,
• she will sacrifice her wants for her family's needs and find the blessing in what she has,
• she is going to chose those books, babies, art, walks, and smiles over the mopping, not everyday but enough for her children to know they are loved,
• she is going to keep a home clean and peaceful enough for her husband to know she loves him.

I am a mom. Perhaps I should tack this to my mirror.