When I use a microwave, knowing just how bad they are for me and all, I never ever put a solid number in. Im like mehhhhh this looks like it needs a solid 3:27. Said with total confidence and certainty. It is a bit of a superstition. Turns out I passed that on to my kids. That could easily be due to nature or nurture. Crying at the rodeo when they play “God Bless the U.S.A.” and then they shoot off a gun after like the song was not enough to take me out however would be that wonky gene that didn’t get killed when I drank wine with them. I wonder if that was what my OB was trying to do. She’s like have a glass or 3.27…drown that wonky gene out. No ma’am. I would like to keep it for them. It makes them very human and humble, and will turn some girls away. It is part of that toolbox I love utilizing. The one with the elimination tool in it. Cry at that firework show bro, laugh at yourself for doing it and then make a new random best friend at the concession stand and thennnnnnnnnn if the girl still is proud of you, bring her to me at once and I shall crack the case. I don’t want to be the mom who is going to be like meh, next. But I already know I am. I am working on it now, knowing damn well I am getting nowhere. That goes on my list of things I know and accept I am no good at. Motorcycles, WordPress, family trees, spatial recognition, and no one being good enough for my sons. If some little missy dared to try to get my Otis to stop doing his Donald Duck voice when he is pissed, she would have another coming. I love that damn voice. I know when he uses it he is playfully mad at me. He is clearly capable of having a discussion and telling me to stop moving my phone around in the sunlight to make the glare hit him in the eye over and over again but he doesn’t, he knows I am going to do it again tomorrow and laugh just like it was the first time I did it and so he talks to me like Donald Duck but better than even Don did it all those years. Raz alert! Yesterday, Avery was getting his laundry all ready to go in the washer. They have terrible bloody noses, so there’s a lot of prewash stain treatments we have to do, well they have to do now (oh the little things) and check their pockets, etc., as they also got the gene where we bring home every cool rock, feather, leaf, and dead bug (well that’s only me, they hate bugs). So he has his AirPods in, jamming to some song too upbeat for me, and I walk past the laundry room and see him and think cool, my little man is getting into the groove. If you don’t groove to some music while cleaning, don’t come to my house. You’re weird and not welcome. Kidding-ish. Although you will not find a rug on my doorstep that says “Welcome” because, arrrrreeeee youuuu though? So I keep on walking towards the staircase, minding my own, eyebrow at ease and then bam, I notice his iPad sitting there with Spotify open. Without even thinking, my hands just fucking leaped to work knowing damn well they had a job to do. Get on that iPad screen and type in “poop” in the search bar…select any song in the results list, hit play and hide while trying not to laugh because I am the funniest person I know in this moment. Well, after 12 years of this kind of mother-son nonsense, my son just walked to his iPad, opened the lyrics tab and started singing along. Yes my son, you sing your heart out to the poop song and keep them girls away forever.

I know the day is coming where they will leap out of this nest. And I have to say, I am so proud of who they are already. Genuinely proud because they are genuine people. I mean they are without a doubt going to need a therapist or an Open Journal of their own later in life, but come on, who doesn’t. No, that was not meant to have a question mark. I call bs. And when my kids get irritated with something I do and say “mommmmmm” I call out “mommmmmmmm” too like I am looking for her as well. Where is my person I can shout out for 24-7 no matter what it is? Look, I am just as confused. It used to confuse them. Then it upset them. Now they laugh. See, we made progress. We are all just looking for mom around here. The time change recently got me a little more thrown off. Like I needed another reason. They used to nap after school. They still nap. I still nap. Apple. Tree. Not. Far. Also, I have read many an article that says people who nap live longer so looks like the three of us are going to have lots of years to keep calling out mom together after we take a prank too far. Girls be walking away backwards, sitting down with their heads turned sideways like Chip trying to find a home. Girl, there ain’t no welcome mat here. Go on, get on outta here now (said with the accent you imagined). So about 7 years back…the time had changed and we came home from school and they took a nap. While they napped, I made lunches, got in pjs, just kidding I live in them, and then woke them when they were finished. Side note, don’t ever fucking wake me up when I am napping and tell me I am “finished”. Only I know when I am. How could you possibly know when I am finished? Now that was a question and I dedicate it to Brad. But you know, I actually am the mom and so I have to do things like this that won’t make sense to my kids when they’re older but its part of the whole human experience. So now they are up, lunches are made, I am still in character with my pjs and I tell them they overslept and we are going to be late for school. The sun was gone but the light was not. It looked just like the hour we leave for school in a hurry. They are frantic and screaming mom and there I am, frantic and screaming mom with them too. I get them in the car, their tiny little sticky hands from the school day they unknowingly just finished a couple hours ago holding onto their lunch boxes and I drive to school. I will fully commit to some things. Shenanigans, check. Brushing my hair every day, no check. We pull up to the school and here comes the good ole “Just kidding! The time changed!” Welcome to the fucked up reality of the things in life you will deal with and wonder why to no avail. Hi, I am one of them, I am your mother. Hi again, the second one is the time change. Now, lets go to Sonic and get a slushy before dinner, go home and watch a movie together and laugh way past what some parents would consider a normal bedtime. Because I want every second I can get with you. Every laugh I can get. Every hug. Every sticky hand hold. Every prank you learn from me and perfect and every prank you do back on your own. Every joke you tell. I want to smell every fart, bro. And I want to be in the bathroom every time you barf and have your twin kick me out for you because I cannot stop the nervous laughter but I am trying so hard to make my body movement match your retching so you don’t notice as much because I fucking love you so much. This is like the only time they don’t call for mom. They know better.

Not a day passes that I don’t learn something new in general but also from my sons. I found me in them and I have been taking a stab at this whole “growing up” thing since the day I was born. I am responsible. I have my shit together-ish. I am absolutely reliable and I thrive-ish on structure-ish. Routine and expectations are important to me, but I need a shit ton of fun in between…is that ADHD? I don’t know, I hate labels. I like to say, “it ain’t good, it ain’t bad, its just me” and “me” is replaced for whoever I am talking to or about. Except for Sarahs and Brads. They have labels, bad labels. Liar cat labels and petty sex semantics labels. Speaking of structure, we absolutely tanked that yesterday with a math test. I was so frustrated with trying to get Otis to pay attention that I just let him leave and go play video games with his dad and brother online. Like go get a little distracted and relaxed and then we can try this again. I mean, that is the luxury of homeschooling and the only way we have survived this particularly challenging school year. So guess what time my little man came back ready? No seriously, I need you to guess because I honestly could not tell you. Somewhere in the 7PM-9PM range I would guess but not sure because that tricky misleading time change sky got me twisted this time. By the time we finished the test, I was spent and just wanted to watch one video. One little funny nugget as my reward and I had my AirPods in on full volume. Yes, thats bad for me too, but I took a nap earlier so it balanced my health/life bar out. Anyway, he walks away and I can tell he is starting to talk to me again. And the video would not pause and when I am irritated there is not much I can do successfully and that includes taking my AirPods out. So I am shouting at him “what?” but like super colorfully and I finally get my left hand to swat my left ear so hard my AirPod spit itself out onto the table trying to get away from me too and alas I can hear him. He placed his right foot (mens size 10) on the first step of the staircase (his left foot is size 10 too), his hand with fingernails I still clip on the banister, his eyebrow (given by nature but encouraged by nurture) went up and he smirked and said, “Thank you for being so patient with me today. Thank you for your help. Love love.” And I laughed. And he laughed and we have not stopped saying that today as a result bc he was thanking me for something I clearly had checked back into the library at the end of school. My patience. I love my kids. I love love my kids in fact. Beyond what most people may be able to fathom. They are my best friends, they come before me and you, and you, and youuuuuu. They always will. But I am also aware that they are soon to have these amazing lives and stories and adventures and loves and journeys of their own. I cannot wait to cheer them on and know they are aware I will be there when they fail, because we all do. I will always be there to remind them to stand and start again and to learn from it and laugh through it and never think they are done growing because that never stops. To always have fun, be real, good, and true to themselves. Always stand up for others and for each other. These boys may be slowly leaving the nest, but I am also slowly making my way out of it too. We are again learning together and we have this understanding and love for each other that allows us to all start working on what that looks like and support each other in it. Some days are difficult because we all have fears and it feels uncomfortable to make the transition, I mean I found myself in having them and being their mother and now we are all working on finding ourselves again. There is no getting around how scary that can be. But we all want each other to live these fulfilling lives and dreams no matter how different they are from each others, because we all know no matter where we are, no matter what we are doing, all of us are going to be typing in some random ass number into the microwave with confidence and screaming for mom in moments of chaos.