I took the girls to the park today to tucker them out, but to be honest, I’m not sure who’s more tired: them or me? We all start to go stir crazy when we’re cooped up inside, so either way, it’s essential that we get out. The girls are far easier to manage when we are out and about. Restaurants can surprisingly be easier than our dinner table. The park was definitely better than our living room. But I kind of feel like I was hit with a truck.
I often don’t realize in the moment just how much energy I’m expending until we get home, everyone’s in bed, and I sit down. Then I’m about as tired as someone who took Advil Pm. But it’s a good tired. The kind of tired where I’m proud of what I did to get there.
I don’t know if there are many things that make me feel better about myself than when I feel like I’m being an awesome mom, especially in an area where I normally struggle. Other than getting everyone out of the house, I also have a hard time being “fun.” I’m organized, compassionate, patient, attentive, consistent blah blah blah, but I have no idea what to do with my kids in the back yard. How long do we throw a ball back and forth? How do we imagine we’re running away from dragons? What kind of games can we play with chalk? I can execute a task, but I struggle to come up with creative activities. So if you’re ever wondering why my kids are running around laughing and I’m crying, it’s because I’m so thankful that they’re having fun.
Today was one of those days where we scampered around laughing and giggling and munching on snacks. These days are nothing short of magical for me. I can set a boundary to save everybody’s lives but feeling like a fun mom is really difficult for me. In these moments, which are becoming more frequent, I feel unshackled, as if my spirit can finally shine through the countless rules I’ve created. That’s too dirty. That’s not safe. That’s too much work. I’ve learned that having fun involves letting go of my control, and it, unsurprisingly, feels a lot like freedom.