Don’t ask how, but somehow, this blog has recently turned more into ‘Stacy sharing her deepest darkest struggles’ and less photography. I think the two are connected. So I won’t fret yet. I promise to post pictures, hope that helps. 🙂
But here’s where I’m at.
I’m 35. I have a God-send of a Husband, and 3 wonderful Kiddos. I have struggles, fairly common ones, I’m sure. Nothing that’s gonna ever shock you. I’m not much more than an average house-wife-mom. Most days I’m pretty OK with that. Somedays I’m too OK with it. I forget how lucky I actually am. Yes. It is the hardest job in the world to be a Stay-at-home-work-part-time Mom. But most days I coast. I cruise through. Never making too much of a ripple. I spend way too much time on social media. I’m a subpar cook. I hate doing dishes. And cleaning house? Don’t even get me started. I’m not too stressed about changing the world. Most days I’m just happy to make it through with myself and all 3 kids alive and fed. At 8:00 PM it’s bedtime. And I take bedtime seriously. Momma don’t mess. I’m usually exhausted from not doing all that house work and cooking. I’ve had to tolerate a crazy schedule. Poopy diapers. Spilt milk. Fits of tears. Being ignored. Disobedience. Being ignored again. Yelling at my Kids to put their junk away for the 10,000,000th time. I mean. It’s a miracle I’m alive. And when it’s bedtime, it’s ME TIME. I need to catch my breathe. Put my feet up. Ignore some dirty dishes and watch some quality TV.
And then it hits me.
The days are long. But the years are short.
I’m going to wake up in the blink of an eye and have teenagers living under my roof. Teenagers who aren’t going to talk to me about a blessed thing if I continue on this trajectory. I’m not pointing fingers at you or anyone else. I’m pointing them right at ME. I’m staring in the mirror my Friend. Why have I allowed my life to become social media and nagging sessions? When is the last time I sat down (with my phone in another room) and stared any of my Kids right in the eyes and had a real life conversation? Not a 2 minute one…but a 10 minute one…maybe even 20. If I don’t care to listen now, they’re not going to care to talk later. Wake up Stacy. Wake up. These are your Children…not a to-do list.
I just read this article that a Friend posted on Facebook…yes, I know, irony at it’s finest. I literally started crying. Not that that should shock you. But these weren’t sappy tears. They were burning tears. Painful ones. The ones that smack of conviction. I’m a good Mom. I love my kids. Deeply. Whole-heartedly. But a lot of days I love me more. Yep. There. I said it. I so often choose me over them. It plays itself out in too many ways to recount. I know I’m never going to be perfect at this Mommy-wife thing. I know that I will have to work on it and fix it for years to come. I know I’ll screw up. But something’s gotta give. And I’m pretty sure it’s me…
What if we talk instead of text?
What if I put my phone in a drawer from 4-8 PM?
What if I limit social media to once a day? (Gasp! How will she ever survive this?)
What if I stare my kids in the face?
What if I hold them for those 5 extra minutes at bedtime? I know. Crazy talk. I might miss the 1st 10 minutes of The Good Wife. Unspeakable.
This might not be where you’re at. In fact you may not even understand these rantings. Perhaps you’ve got the Mom thing down pat. To that I say. More power to you and keep on keeping’ on! I admire you. I truly do.
But for this selfish soul…it’s a smack in the face. A wake up call. I can’t get these hours back. I’ll never look back and regret not being on Instagram more, but I will regret not being present with my Kids. Cause remember…
The days are long. But the years are short.
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