I’m a Mom—I Don’t Have To Do This, I Get To

Today started unusually chaotic and rushed.

The kids slept in since they’d been up late all week trying to catch up on middle school stuff.

As we all buzzed around the house, looking for this, packing up that—my daughter shouted from the top of the stairs:

Mom, can you make me a lunch, please?

For a split second, I almost hollered back up to tell her to make it herself.

But, here’s the thing.

I know and she knows she can make her own lunch. She is more than capable and on most days does most things for herself.

After a brief pause, I yelled back, “Sure!”

I thought as I grabbed for the yogurt and raisins, what a gift it is to be a mother. Doing for my kids is something I *get* to do.

I get to make their house a home.

I get to cheer for them from the sidelines.

I get to fill their bellies with nourishment.

I get to hold the barf bowl when they are sick.

I get to take them here. And take them there.

I get to watch them grow and become.

I get to tuck them into bed—even when they are old enough to tuck in themselves.

Our kids are growing up fast. They have so many responsibilities and commitments. And, they are capable. They can handle their business. They are learning to manage a lot.

I remember back to my own mom doing certain things for us and knowing, even as a tween, how lucky I was to have such a nurturing mom.

So—I packed the brown bag (because apparently lunch boxes are so uncool) and threw in a piece of her favorite candy.

I knew as she sat down at lunch and reached in to find that little caramel, she would grin. She would know her mom has her back.

Even if she can do it herself, I get to be here to add a little sweetness to her day. This. I get to do.

This article originally appeared on My Battle Call

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Articles by Valli Vida Gideons

Valli Vida Gideons

I am a military bride, who writes about raising kids with cochlear implants, military life, and other things from the heart. Unrelated but not irrelevant... I have a degree in journalism and wrote my first short story in second grade about a walking/talking sponge; I've been an exercise instructor since my teen years (Flashdance sweatshirts, leg warmers and vinyl records to prove it); and may have been an extra on the vintage 90's hit, Beverly Hills 90210 (proof still found on VHS tapes). I got hypothermia in my first marathon at mile 25.5, but went on to kick butt the next six times I toed the line; I use to cut hair on Melrose Ave. in another life; and I am still besties with my two closest pals from elementary school, who encouraged me to share my story. This is my journey. I hope it provides a sliver of inspiration for anyone who is entering or in the midst of a fog. Follow my journey on Facebook and my blog!

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