When Mom's Mom Comes to Town

So I have a confession to make.

Well, maybe not so much a confession as an admission.

I don't know the difference. "Confession" makes it sound like I did something wrong. "Admission" is just telling you what I've done, right or wrong or indifferent?

Sure. Makes sense to me.

So here it is.

I admit that...

when my parents come to our house to visit, I kinda "check out" for a while. (The same can be said for when my in-laws come, and although I know they occupy the boys and help us with a lot around here, I don't want them to do too much...there's still a need to impress them.) :)

I'm still here physically. I don't leave the building or anything like that - although occasionally that would be nice. But mentally, I've dropped those "Mom" and "Wife" titles and take a day off...what my Dad used to call taking a mental health day. Thankfully, when they visit, it's a few mental health dayS!

Let me be frank... being a mom is hard. I say that with no intention of projecting a "woe is me" attitude. There is nothing else I'd rather be and nowhere else I'd rather go than to be here in my home, with my two little guys to love and raise. They bring me more JOY than my heart can hold.

But they also bring me more frustration and pain and tears and fits than one Mama can handle!

Motherhood is all those good things people say about it - it's rewarding, and joyous, and happy, and playful, and wonderful and yadda yadda yadda.

Motherhood is also exhausting.

I only have two kids. I marvel at women who have more. And work outside the home. And sleep. And still look good every day.

I don't allow myself to take a break. Truthfully, there is very little opportunity to. There's always something that needs to be done. Or should be done. Or could be done. Or would be really nice if it was done so I could cross it off my to-do list and actually feel like I got something accomplished between kissing boo-boos, changing diapers, doing crafts, preparing nourishing snacks, and playing Yahtzee, Jr ~ oh, and attempting to raise well-mannered, Jesus-loving, contributing members of society.

While I know my parents come to see their grandchildren...I know that they come to take care of me, too.

I am 31 years old. And I still need my mom and dad.

Their visits give me time...time to start (and finish) things that would normally take several hours or several days to accomplish. My dad's hands play games with the boys so I can organize my craft room. My mom's hands fold my laundry so I can learn how to operate the self-clean function on my oven. My dad's hands help the boys navigate the internet as they watch Disney online so I can fix a broken toy. My mom's hands hold books as she reads story after story after story to the boys so I can go to the bathroom by myself (it really is the little things, people).

They make it easy for me to relax.

They make it easy for me to take a break.

They make it easy for me to be "Lesley" first, for a brief while, before stepping back in to "Mom."

And when after four days, they go back home to Minnesota, I'm a little bit refreshed.

Until one throws a fit on the living room floor, the other is in time out, mac and cheese is caked to the underside of the table, the dog pees in the house, and we've run out of milk.

Ahh...motherhood.

{Mom, Dad...when are you coming back???}