I’m that mom who will laugh when my kid says something inappropriate and save the teaching moment for a less comedic occasion.
I’m that mom who will absolutely, positively, no matter what the situation, NOT stand for the mistreatment of those with special needs. Ever. Not even the “r” word that some use as an adjective. Especially the “r” word that some use as an adjective.
I’m that mom who will not automatically assume my child’s guilt until I have heard my child’s side of the story. When push comes to shove, I know my kids are honest. (Even when they lie, I can tell.)
I’m that mom who will not get onto my kid for cussing now and then. Occasionally life warrants the “s” word. Maybe worse. And they probably heard it from me, anyway. I may have a potty-mouth at times, but I am not a hypocrite.
I’m that mom who will let my kids fight it out, only stepping in to avoid the emergency room and/or the breaking of expensive home decor. The rest is up to them.
I will not be around to referee their life’s battles so they may as well pick and choose what is worth fighting for with family first.
I’m that mom who will yell, “I love you!” or “Word to your mother!” while dropping them off at school if they refuse to say goodbye or tell me they love me. I am not above embarrassment as a means to an end.
I’m that mom who will dress way younger than my years, try to adopt the young, hip lingo with my sons’ friends, listen to their crappy music on occasion, and gripe about how my own era of music was so much better, and likely appear to be trying way too hard. Only because I am trying way too hard to fit into their life, to know their friends, to understand their world, to get a glimpse of the adults they are daily becoming with less and less guidance from me.
I’m that mom who will show up to every extra-curricular event, game, play, debate, and school function I possibly can. They will know I support them.
They will feel my pride at a job well done and my encouragement when they face a losing season.
I’m that mom who will reveal things my kids are possibly too young to know. Only because I feel too much information is better than too little. If they are mature enough to ask a question, I will be mature enough to answer said question. Even if it is uncomfortable . . . or worse, paints me in a dim light.
I’m that mom who will hug my kids tighter than others feel is normal, say I love you in random, awkward situations, constantly talk about their birth story and what a delight they are to me, even when they are being anything but delightful.
I’m that mom who messes up, falls down, feels like a failure, is always running behind, can’t cook to save her life, never has a clean house, and probably looks to outsiders like a hot mess more often than I do not. (That is because I am a hot mess more than I am not.)
I am also that mom who will love my children fiercely. Protect them loyally.
Always stand up for them and fight for them, or rather teach them how to fight for themselves. I may not be perfect, but these children were destined to raise me just as much as I was destined to raise them. God knew we needed each other and He has made us a family of awkward, outside-of-the-box, non-traditional yet loving, comedic, sarcastic, artistic weirdos.
I’m that mom who struggled to have children. But never stopped praying it would happen. It did. And I am that mom who will always be grateful God chose me to mother the two most perfectly imperfect little boys who fit in perfectly with an imperfect mom like me.