By the mere fact that I'm a mom that I live for my children and basically fulfill their every need: feed them, wash and iron their clothes, wipe their asses and love them to death one would think that I'd be secure in the fact that my children indeed love me.
And I am. Or so I thought.
The "I hate you’s", “you’re the worst mom in the entire universe" and the "you never let us do anything fun" spike my ego from time-to-time with a little "insecurity punch”.
Don’t get me wrong I get the hugs, the kisses and I loves you’s, and they feel so good but I never gave it a second thought because isn’t it really their job to do that, to tell me these things? Just like it’s their job to talk incessantly, have tantrums, and bend over, hands on the floor, tushie perchedin the air screaming, “MOM I finished pooping, wipe my butt”.
Saturday I was gone for a full day to attend a blogging conference in Philadelphia,the Bloggy Boot Camp, #BBCPhilly. I left for the conference at 6:00 a.m. and I wrote my family a note to say goodbye – I was making the two hour trek alone and was nervous that God forbid I died in a firey crash I wanted to make sure that my boys knew I loved them, that my husband knew I loved him and that they need to wear clean underwear – all the time.
I wrote the note, taped it to the wall where they’d see it and didn’t think a thing about it for another second; until two hours into the conference when I received a text from my husband that said “Matty had tears in his eyes when Richie read him your note this morning.” Tears in his eyes? Really? This is the son that drives me to hell and back, has intentionally flushed two bars of soap down the toilet, jumps out of a window and constantly tells me that, “I’m not the boss of him!”
I texted back to tell them that I loved and miss them too. End of story, or so I thought, until about mid-way through the conference I saw I had a phone message from home. My initial thought was "oh shit my husband lost a child somewhere". I excused myself, walked out and heard the following message from my four year old: “Mama, I love you, when are you going come back, are you gunna come back tomorrow or you will come back during this day, bye Mama I love you”.
And I lost it. Yep, I had my own Sally Field “My children love me, they really love me” moment and then realized that I kinda take their love for granted. I didn’t think they cared whether I was there or not because heck their every need is taken care of; I wrongly assumed that it didn’t matter that it was me or a monkey that’s handing them their juice box.
When I returned from the conference later that I night the little one was sleeping, the big one said he missed me too. The very next morning when the little one woke up I didn’t get the big reunion I envisioned instead he walked right past me into the bathroom and about two minutes later I heard“MOMMY, I’mmmm DOONNNEEE, WIPE MY BUTT!”
Apparently it means a lot that I wipe his ass and not a monkey!
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