A Gift for Mom! 🤍

All my kids were back under my roof last night, which meant I passed out at 8 p.m. with the weight of all the “what ifs?” and other worries finally OFF my back. They were all safe and sound and HERE. Under my roof. There is nothing better in the world than that.

Then, the morning came and of course craziness ensued. Pretty sure I heard one of the kids tell Alexa to “F-off” when her alarm went off. (Not the first time, I might add. I have very articulate yet sweary children.)

There is no food for lunches, someone said I bought the wrong syrup?!?, and in order for my kids to “dress down” today at school, they each need $2. I just threw a giant Ziploc bag of pennies at them and said, “Godspeed.”

The day is going to be filled with holiday errands, 45 pounds of laundry that smells like stale keg beer that my son brought home from college, and a school Christmas pageant tonight that, well, let’s just say I’ve seen 85 times. Joy to the world!

And yet, this morning I am not complaining. (I know, that’s a new one, right?)

Earlier this week brought news of a dear friend and mother who is just beginning to fight the battle of her life. Followed by another mom who shared she was thanking God for healing her child, and for getting the chance to have another Christmas with her.

Then this morning I realized it has been nearly 7 years since a classroom of children in Sandy Hook were gunned down right before Christmas.

This week I have been looking at the holidays through a different lens. Is it busy? Yep. Am I tired? You betcha. Is my patience on its last leg, and does everything seem like a major ordeal? Hell yes it does.

But then I am suckerpunched with the realization I get to do this.

I GET TO DO THIS. I GET THIS PRIVILEGE!!

I am here.

My body is healthy and stable (my mind, not so much).

My kids are healthy and here. They are loud and demanding and hungry and needy but they are HERE.

So for the next few weeks, we are going to trash this house and eat all the cheeseballs.

We are going to drive around and look at Christmas lights while the kids whine and tell us how uncool we are.

We’re going to listen to all the bad Christmas carols (Jessica Simpson, I’m talking to YOU), and we’re gonna watch Elf for the 50th time.

We’re gonna go ice skating and fall on our butts, make gingerbread houses that look like gumdrop explosions, and be in each other’s faces as much as humanly possible (or until we want to punch someone).

Why?

Because WE GET TO DO THIS.

Moms, you GET to do Christmas this year!!

So don’t for one second let that simple truth escape you.

Have a merry weekend, friends.

#eatallthecheeseballs

Originally published by Melissa Overmire Fenton at4BoysMother- Melissa Fenton, Writer 

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

Melissa Fenton

Melissa Fenton is a freelance writer, adjunct librarian, and St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital Awareness Ambassador. She writes at http://www.4boysmother.com/. Her writing can be found all over the internet, but her work is mostly on the dinner table.

My Mom Was Just 13 When I Was Born. Now That I’m a Mother, I See Her Differently.

In: Living
Young girl and teenage mother

There are only 13 years and 11 months between us. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been—how lonely it must have felt at times. A childhood cut short, replaced with responsibilities that were night and day. Confusion and love, all wrapped into one. Growing up, it felt like I had a big sister beside me. A friend I loved with everything in me. But she wasn’t just a friend. She was my mother. I relied on her for guidance, for reassurance, for someone to look up to. And now I find myself wondering, how could she give me...

Keep Reading

Why Don’t We Talk About Jonah’s Mother?

In: Faith, Living, Motherhood
Woman standing over water

Praying for My Son Send a storm to stop him; Let his friends throw him out. May he drop to the deeps, But gently, please, Stubborn though he may be. If it could only take three days, How my mother’s heart would Rejoice in praise.  From the hell you allow him, Let him cry to you. Is not Nineveh and mercy Exactly what he knows He needs— A mercy on enemies He fears You will concede? Please let all the shade wither If his is an angry soul; Humble him and help him follow Where you would have his purpose...

Keep Reading

I Never Got to Meet My Grandmother on This Side of Heaven

In: Living
Old black and white family photo

Grandmother, I never met you this side of Heaven, but I feel as though I have. Your pictures, scattered throughout my mother’s home, tell your story. Born to a woman who came to this country alone when she was just 16, you would be the youngest of four, with two sisters and a brother. Your short, dark, straight hair clings to your little face, a line of bangs neatly combed high on your forehead. You couldn’t be more than three years old as you sit on a stool at your sister’s First Holy Communion. The black and white photo makes...

Keep Reading

The Hardest Part of Divorce Is Being Away from My Kids

In: Living, Marriage, Motherhood
Woman in driver's seat

I’ve written several times about how divorce has allowed me to find myself again, and how that version is even better than the one I was before I was married. All of that is still true. I am happier than I’ve ever been. More confident and sure of myself. I understand my emotions and how to handle myself when things get tough or scary. I am more grounded and calm than I’ve ever been. Truly, I have come out on top. I’ve received comments about how happy I look, how I’m “living my best life with kids only half the...

Keep Reading

My Dad Gave Us Something Money Never Could

In: Living
Family smiling in posed photo

I was talking with my dad the other day about an upcoming Disney trip with our kids. I told him all we planned to do while we were there and how excited the kids were. He sat and listened, taking it all in. And then he said something that put a lump in my throat. “I’m so glad you’re able to give your kids the life that I couldn’t.” He went on to say he still carries some guilt–that he wishes he could have done more, taken us on trips, given us experiences he couldn’t. Hearing that broke my heart....

Keep Reading

Dear Daddy, I Wish You Could See Yourself As We Do

In: Living, Marriage
father with two young children

The side of my husband who is hardest on himself usually shows up late at night. The house is quiet, the kids are finally asleep, and the day has done what it always does—taken everything it could from both of us. That’s usually when it comes out. The voice in his head that tells him he’s not doing enough as a father. Not present enough. Not patient enough. Not good enough. He doesn’t say it lightly. He says it like someone confessing a truth he wishes wasn’t true. Like he’s already measured himself against some invisible standard of fatherhood and...

Keep Reading

Mothers and Stepmothers: Who’s on First?

In: Living
Little girl looking through fingers

The roles. The expectations. The unspoken, undefined rules. The hurt feelings no one wants to talk about. It could be a scene from an old Abbott and Costello routine: “Who’s on first?” Motherhood is rarely clear-cut. And if you’ve ever tried to navigate life alongside a stepmother—or as one—you know how quickly things can become complicated. Add a stepmother to the mix, and suddenly it’s a relay race where no one’s quite sure who’s holding the baton, or if anyone wants it. This isn’t a story about winners and losers or choosing sides. It isn’t about who is right or...

Keep Reading

Do We Really Want a ’90s Summer?

In: Living
Girl holding popsicle

The year is 2026: we’re inviting thousands of strangers to get ready with us, threatening our own deaths on a lot of different hills and, if you’re a millennial mom, determined to have a ’90s summer. Some top to-dos on the ’90s mom summer checklist? Lots of outside play, limited screens, less hustle, more simplicity. Overall, evoking the “carefree” summers of the 1990s. But did anyone ever ask the real ‘90s moms if summers back then were all we’re cracking them up to be? If my own memory serves me right, my parents talked a whole lot about summers in...

Keep Reading

To the Woman Who Was Betrayed

In: Living, Marriage
Woman looking off to the fog

He promised you a lifetime, a family, safety, and security. You carried life and brought it into this world for him. Even still, in the trenches of postpartum, he betrayed you. It was never your fault. This is something I’ve fought to tell myself every single day since the day I discovered my marriage was never meant to last. Because the truth is, betrayal is never about you; it’s about them, and the character flaws deep within they’d rather bury than face. He watched as you fought for your life after delivery while your tiny, premature newborn spent the first...

Keep Reading

5 Things I’m Learning about 50

In: Living
birthday balloons

When my dad turned 80, he—and we, by default—celebrated all year. My sister made a fantastic, larger-than-life sign of him posing in front of his friend’s antique car, with beautiful calligraphy that trumpeted, “Cheers to you, celebrating 80 years of life!” The sign welcomed his closest friends and family into a private room at a steakhouse, where we toasted his 80 years—and the grandkids toasted his steady presence in their lives. The sign moved from the swanky steakhouse to the second-floor banister in my parents’ house. When you walked in, it greeted you—a feel-good conversation starter and a reminder to...

Keep Reading