I always wanted to be a mom, at least I thought I did. Back in the days when being a mom meant wearing the prettiest dress to church and having the perfect children neatly standing in a row and smiling like they just won the golden ticket and were off to see willy at the chocolate factory. I always thought that being a mother meant combing their hair and smiling Miss America style at the tiny tantrums every toddler is prone to. I never thought it would be this… hard. Being a mom is akin to being the CEO of a company craddled in the arms of bankruptcy. The title might be a little glamorous, but anyone that has ever been there knows that the glitz is only vinyl siding deep, and the reality is much…. much more interesting. We have a coffee pot, but the coffee is never fresh unless you make it yourself. We have windows, but you can’t see out of them unless you have a bottle of windex and your own rag in hand. The bills keep coming in, but no one is paying them but you. I love being a mom, but days like today really don’t make me feel any better about it. Yes, it was mothers day. My dreams of waking up to a lovingly made breakfast in bed with all of my favorite foods had somehow morphed into a horribly uncomfortable brunch with a frazzled mother in law who’s distaste for me can easily be seen in her consistent disapproval of the way I live my life (and the way I chop fruit.) The fantasy of waking to three boys dressed in their Sunday best was a reality of two children caked in pancake syrup and one that had stripped all of his clothes off entirely and was running through the house screaming about naked time. I took my three children and their dumbass father to his mother’s house, like a good mom would. I presented a gift to her, like a good daughter would. I didn’t say a word when I was referred to as “girlfriend” (twice)even though its been so many years and so many children and so many discussions about why I do not believe in marriage. I did my part, though the rest of the family did not. And I suppose that is what being a mom is all about. It isn’t glamour, except those few times I get to put on that hot little red dress. It isn’t fun, unless you count the times we giggle to exhaustion about fart jokes and nose picking. It isn’t a good time, unless you count every single waking moment. I could list all of the things I didn’t expect to encounter upon becoming a mother. I could cry in exasperation for the insensitivity to the man who went this morning to get himself fresh coffee from the nearest starbucks, and though it was mother’s day (a tribute to mothers everywhere) he forgot to ask if I wanted anything. Being a mother is the only consistent part of my life. I may want to strangle the people around me, but I can always find a giggle in one of my poorly dressed-syrup covered children. So happy mother’s day. To you and to me.

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