Dzien Matki — Mother’s Day in Poland

I am pretty sure I just ate candy my son gave me from his grubby fingers—and I am not sure the last time he washed his hands.  Or went to the bathroom and forgot to wash his hands.  I am actually gagging a little bit right now.  Really.  My stomach is not feeling so well.  Hashtag “truemom”.  EATING NASTY GERMS FROM GRUBBY DIRTY FINGERS.  Sigh.

Therefore, let’s just say that I am VERY VERY VERY happy to be celebrating the upcoming day about ME in Poland.  Dzien Matki.  May 26th.  Mother’s Day.

In Poland, Mother’s Day is the same day year after year after year.  Kind-of like Women’s Day, Wigilia, your birthday, your anniversary, New Year’s … MOTHER’S DAY!  It is set in stone and NEVER GOES AWAY!

Kind of like our kids, eh????!!!! (smile and wink)

Anyhow, this upcoming Mother’s Day I think that I am going to set expectations for my kids:

  1.  I am going to expect for them to make me frustrated.
  2. I am going to expect for them to make a mess.
  3. I am going to expect for them to NOT leave me in peace when I have to pee OR merely pick up the phone—EVEN THOUGH, moments before, they had forgotten about the very existence of me.
  4. I am going to expect for them to cry over their hair styles or crust.  YES—the crust on their bread.
  5. I am going to expect for them to have a small accident in their underpants—just enough so that they will not want to wear the same pair and not enough to make a mess on the floor.  The in between stage of wet.  Enough, however, where they will then declare that they must STRIP NAKED and be.  For the rest of the day.
  6. I am going to expect for my toddler to wake me at 3am.  Or 5am.  Or 6am.  And not at all appreciate that they day is about ME!
  7. I am going to expect for the pre-teen (nastolatek) to give me grief.  I don’t know about what.  About the volume of my voice or the fact that SHE CANNOT WEAR MY SHOES.
  8. I am going to expect for them to fight and argue about the 1 block.  On the floor.  When there are 1 million and 12 other blocks right next to the 1 block.  And there are 500,000 of those 1 million and 12 blocks that are exactly the same as the 1 block that they are rowing over.
  9. I am going to expect them to stub their toes, blacken their eyes, break their teeth, or scrape their knees.  I know this because it will happen.  My three year old currently has a black eye and a huge forehead mark from tripping onto the training wheel bike tire and also falling on the side of the trampoline.  All in a day’s work.  So I am going to expect a trip to the hospital, a broken bone, or a bandaged knee.  It will happen.
  10. And, lastly, I am going to expect a gazillion times over for them to tell me that they “Love me the most!”  And fight over it.  And cuddle me.  And then fight over cuddling me.  And then fight once again about who loves Momma the most.  Because it will happen.  I expect it.

And number 10 makes up for 1-9.

As I expect it should.

So, you see, Mother’s Day in Poland is really no different than Mother’s Day anywhere else in the world.  If you come from a dirt floor or a mansion that touches the sky, being MOM is full of a million and one expectations that always start with DISASTER…But that one moment (#10) will make up for all of the tornadoes that will come in and hijack your day.

In the end, however, you don’t mind.  Because it’s a nice feeling.  Being mom.

But NOT eating the grubby food from their fingers.  Leave that behind on Dzien Matki.  I am pretty sure that is not a nice feeling.

Not at all.

Happy Mother’s Day from Poland to YOU!

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Happy Mother’s Day for the woman that is not the mother…

strong women

Today may be a day that is your least favorite day of the year.  Mother’s Day.

Maybe you even feel a little guilty for not liking the day because you had an amazing mom.

Perhaps you have siblings, friends, or cousins that are AMAZING moms but you are not a mom.

Perhaps you are not a mom because a baby was just never given to you.

And you feel.

Well, you may not know how to feel but you know that you feel.  Deeply.

Perhaps you are not a mom by choice.

Yet your eyes wander the world on this day and see other women celebrated.  And this makes you feel.

You don’t know how it makes you feel.  But it does.

Perhaps you were a mom and then your babies or children were taken from you.  Too soon.  And now you, the mom, are a mom forever and always but you don’t have your baby to say on this day, “YOU ARE MY MOM!”

And this makes you feel.

On this day, ladies, all I can say is that every beautiful trait of YOU is wrapped into a beautiful box and displayed with the grandeur of the perfect woman.

You are that woman.

That beautiful treasure that is perfect just the way she is.

Strong.

Resilient.

A fighter.

A lover.

A giver.

A friend.

A woman.

A woman who makes our world a more beautiful place.

You make this world a place where I can travel with my daughters and say, “Look!  You are perfect for who you are!”

You, dear woman, are the reason that my daughter will walk tall and strong and proud.  Because who knows what her one day will hold.

Maybe it will hold children.  Maybe it will not.  Maybe it will hold a husband.  Maybe it will not.  Maybe it will hold loss.  Maybe it will not.

But when she looks about this world, she needs to see YOU.

She needs to see that one day — SHE IS ENOUGH as the woman that she is.  Because she is fearfully and wonderfully made!

So, today, on Mother’s Day, Ladies, I would like to say “Thank you” to you.  Because of you, I can point to my daughters and say “Look at this woman and see what she has done!  The world is stronger and more creative, beautiful, and kind because of her.  Be like her!”

And my daughters will go to bed remembering all that you are…

The woman that makes our world a better place.

 

Happy Mother’s Day #failblog to Me!

motherday2016

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND ME, MOMMA!” My 3-year-old son shouted at me today.

Yes.  On Mother’s Day.

The sacred day for Mothers.

Why would a 3-year-old shout that he is not understood?

Well, for starters, his 2-year-old sister slightly colored on his Spiderman coloring picture and I told him it was going to be okay.

I even cut around the pencil scratches she made…

But, apparently, it was NOT OKAY!

I don’t understand…

And then he wanted crunchy toast for lunch.

So I made it.

Buttered bread, into the oven, voile!  Out comes crunchy toast.

But NOOOOOOOOO!

He wants the bread in the oven first to get crunchy…THEN…And, apparently, only THEN…can I butter his toast.

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND ME, MOMMA!!!”

Yes, Maxwell.  This is where you are 100 million 25 billion 49 quadrillion 237 gazillion correct.  I DON’T UNDERSTAND YOU!

Happy Mother’s Day to me?????

Absolutely!

Because just when all sanity was lost, a dear friend showed up delivering flowers on behalf of my husband who is 1 trillion kilometers away…

Flowers…on a day when I was LOSING.  Like BIG TIME!

Flowers…for me!

mothersdayflowers

Winds of change…This surprise uber lovely visit shuffled all children AND crying 3-year-olds outside where they began to ride, run, and play in the great outdoors.

Lunch still untouched—but, hey!  Who needs lunch????

Friends…I don’t understand my kids.

My 10-year-old…A mystery!

My 3-year-old…A puzzle!

My 2-year-old…A NO Monster!

If this was baseball, I would be STRUCK out!  Out of that Old Ball Game!

But that’s the thing about mommies.  We don’t strike out.

Well, technically, we MAY strike out…BUT WE DON’T leave home plate.  We make sure that they pitch it again and again and again…hoping for a hit!

Which sometimes we actually make.

The crack of the bat.  The connection of the ball.

We run and run and run…And round those bases so that we can bat again.

Recently I had posted a picture of my 2-year-old trying to escape out the front door to find daddy (who is a trillion miles away).  Her diaper sagging.  I called her #soggybottom.  My soggy bottom baby.  And I captioned the photo: Because sometimes we fail at parenting.

But then an angel wrote and said, “It’s not a parenting fail…It’s well hydrated!”

That’s when it hit me…

I didn’t fail.  I succeeded.  She was well hydrated.  That meant she wasn’t dehydrated.  Which meant, I could avoid taking her to the doctor for fluids.

Complete victory!

My daughter was well-watered.  Forget the soggy bottom baby trying to escape.  At least she was trying to escape hydrated!

More power for her long, long journey!

parentingfail

I absolutely LOVED how that perspective changed my entire view of the situation.

And, so, I’ll leave you with the same advice my mom used to give me when I’d fall, “Hop up and get going again!  You are fine.”

Dear Moms out there…

You’re not failing.  You are hydrating your children.  Forget all of the details in between…

And, when you need it, remember the words HOP UP!  GET GOING!  YOU ARE FINE!

Because you are…

Happy Mother’s Day to you!

workinprogress

A masterpiece of work in progress!

“He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it…” Philippians 1:6

Get off me, Richard. It’s not Father’s Day!

So I awoke early in the morning.  I am a nursing mom, you know.  Hence my early morning alarm clock, also known as Josephine, letting me know that she has done me a favor and slept all night.  Now it’s my turn to return the favor and feed her.

I nudge my husband awake…he slowly starts to move and then gets out of bed, grabs Josephine, and changes her diaper.

It’s not crack of dawn, mind you, but it feels like it, even though the sun is streaming through our blinds.

During the weekdays, it’s easy—-er to pop out of bed because the luxury of sleeping longer is not afforded.  But when it’s the weekend, for some reason, the sunlight does not mean get up.  The sunlight is an intruder to your “off” time.  Therefore making it harder to get up.  And it also makes it harder to feed your hungry infant (smile and wink).

But feed her I did.  And, like a good little girl, she went back down after eating.

Problem.  My husband figured since I was awake and all 3 children were in bed AND it was the weekend-which meant not the normal flurry of early morning get up and go activities-it would be a GREAT time to cozy up and, you know…

Um, perhaps he forgot one thing about the day—and the title of the day is:  Mother’s Day.  My one day of R-E-S-T.  Rest!

And so I did what any exhausted mom would do on her special day as my husband is trying to pursue a make-out session.  I gently reminded him with those “I am sleepy” karate chopping shoves and kicks that even though he is all hubba-hubba hot stuff, today, of all days, was my day.   Mother’s Day.  Not Father’s Day.

The difference you might ask.

Sleep for Moms.

Play for Dads.

If it wasn’t for all of the play—I wouldn’t be celebrating Mother’s Day.

Now it’s time for rest.

 

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