“J, c’mere!  Look at this,” says my 7 year old as he walks out of the bathroom with his pants around his ankles and used toilet paper in his hand.

“My poop is green!”

Makes a mother proud.

There was an accident this morning that closed off all of the main lanes of the interstate.  I was in the HOV lane, so I drove by and saw the minivan that had rolled over onto its roof.  One person was being wheeled on a stretcher towards an ambulance while more paramedics knelt over another working on her (or him) in the road.  That’s all I saw as I went past, but I sent up a little prayer for the people involved.

I didn’t know them, but I was the one with the time to ask for their safety at that moment–and it didn’t seem like the folks who were stuck in the mile-long back up would be in the mood.

I don’t mention this to prove my charity, but rather to explain.

There are times when I feel a responsibility to pay respect or bear witness to something that has NOTHING to do with me.

Exhibit A:

image source okmagazine.com

I may actually watch the wedding ceremony of William and Kate.

And this after I posted the following tweet yesterday:

@mammaloves Amie Adams

That tweet wasn’t a lie.  I swear.

I can’t stand all the pre-pre-coverage and pre-coverage and shit the extra coverage; HOWEVER, today I had this thought:

His mom isn’t there.  She can’t witness her son’s marriage.  But hey, I’m a mom.  I have sons.  I should do it for her.*

Maybe it’s the horror of the thought of not seeing my own sons finding their happiness–of not being there to witness it.  Maybe I hope someone would do the same for me.

It’s not like Diana and I were besties or anything.  I can say with relative certainty that she probably never even knew I existed, but we have motherhood in common.  And, in that way we shared an understanding.

So the hype and the commentators and the crazy Americans decked out in British flags who have camped out for days along the parade route will not gain my attention, but the ceremony–the exchange of vows–I will watch.  I will watch for the mother who can’t be there.

*I totally recognize this thought may mean that I’m insane and now you know that too because I’ve revealed my crazy-ass thought process on the internet, but if you know me or have ever read this blog before you already knew that.

I’m a mom.  I’m a blogger.  I’m a photographer for crying out loud, but have I captured my memories of your childhood?

I know I can’t hold on.  I can’t prevent you from growing up–from becoming an amazing man.

But you’re my beautiful little boy too.  You will always be my beautiful baby.  Even if you won’t cut your hair “until baseball season starts.”

As proud as I am of the incredible person you are becoming, I miss the little baby who disappears with every passing minute.

You are my reserved one.  Never my obvious cuddler, never one to be effusive.

Those giant blue eyes that you hide behind that hair–they take my breath away every time you let me see them.  I’m so grateful you give me a glimpse of them from time to time.  I’m sorry I grab my camera every time that you do, but I don’t want to miss these moments.

Because seven years of them have already gone by.

Happy Birthday my baby.  I am so proud to be your mom and I will love you forever.

No better toy for two young boys than a giant cardboard box.

They were taking turns getting under the box and hopping around like a turtle with bunny feet.  My heart swelled with pride at their ability to share.  They even managed get under the overturned box at the same time to play together.

Small Fry: Hey I’ll get under there too and you be the front lights and I’ll be the back lights (suddenly they were no longer a turbit but rather some sort of vehicle I’m guessing).

Medium Fry: Sure get under.

Small Fry: Okay let’s go.

(One poorly executed lurch forward.  Laughter erupts.  Out pop two boys.)

Small Fry: (grabbing his face) Ow!  My nose!

(Medium Fry continues laughing)

Small Fry: (standing up and looking down at the floor)  Oooh!  Stickers!!

Attention spans are so over-rated.

Words race through my head.  Oh to let them spill out here on the page would lift such a weight from my shoulders.

But I have a teenager.

I would never share his stories in the first place, that isn’t my place, but what we are struggling with is my story too.

Today I asked for help.

I realized that there was no more I could do to solve the situation by myself–it was time to call in reinforcements.  Years of living with an addict sibling and years pretending depression didn’t exist actually paid off.

Asking for help doesn’t signify failure it signifies sanity (or at least a moment of clarity).

Nothing changes immediately, but the simple act of admitting you can’t do it alone (or even within your own family) certainly lightens the load enough to take a few more steps.

No one is in danger here.  The world will continue to spin. Raising children though?

Tough work sometimes.  Tough work.

Leave it to PFunky to set me straight–and some uplifting words from Laurie to put me on a better track.*

I’ve been pissed off all day. On Twitter I was reading about all the “GREAT” and “FANTASTIC” plans people have for the new year. Everyone was so freaking chipper. Apparently I only follow the uber-achievers whose sole purpose in life is to make me feel like a big gigantic loser by comparison.

Where am I going? What am I going to do next? What have I accomplished so far? What do I have to show for my time on this planet? Why was it again I went away to college? And moved away from home? How the heck am I going to make the changes I really want to make in my life?

Oh yeah, and I’m going to be 40 in 2010.

It wasn’t a pretty day.

Just moments ago, I was reminded that we are putting another decade on the books (I mean I knew this, but I didn’t really THINK about it), and then I started to think about my life 10 years ago.

The roof that is over my head? Didn’t belong to me yet.

The kind people I work for now? Hadn’t met ’em yet.

The three crazy, rambunctious, big-hearted boys who make me want to both pull out all my hair and laugh hysterically every single day? One just went back home to live with his mom and the other two were a vague concept.

I may not be world-famous (yet). I may not be the hottest mommy in town (yet). I may even still have that nasty Diet Coke habit (let’s not get too hasty with our resolutions), but I do have a life I couldn’t conceive of just ten years ago.

Makes me wonder how I’ll look back ten years from now.

*I hope you know how much your words meant to me today–always.

Holy cow!

I had no idea how exhausted my mother must have been during the holidays when I was a kid.

I have my three boys, the husband, my parents and brother in town. Not THAT many people, and I’m bushed.

My mom worked as an ER nurse when I was Santa-believing age. She regularly hosted twice as many people in a smaller house on a much smaller salary and never let us see her crack–not even once.

I am not worthy.

I’m 39 years old and it’s taken me this many years to get all of my presents wrapped before Christmas Eve…to have a dinner prepared the night my parents arrive (what? I take them to restaurants with cloth napkins!).

Mom hasn’t had to cook one thing so far this holiday (sure she just arrived this afternoon), I have all the groceries purchased for meals through Friday (even stuff for lunches) and I’m almost done with my cooking (yeah, so I’ll be up REALLY late).

But I’m kinda proud of myself.

I also can’t see straight let alone carry on a conversation with anyone.

So if you don’t hear from me for a few days, it’s not because I don’t love you. I do. But the torch has been passed and I’m the “mom” of the family now, and pretending to be organized is EXHAUSTING.

Merry Christmas!!!

I’ve been listening to your personal jam session with Rock Band for the past hour and it makes me want to bottle you up so I can enjoy this moment over and over. Oh the shelf that bottle would sit on! It would be nestled in among thousands of other tiny glass jars–the ones holding the sounds of your baby giggles or the one that holds the image of your smile the day of your first tball game.

If only I could have a shelf like that. One that I could visit any time to relive those experiences again and again.

Tonight you’re five. You haven’t mastered reading yet, so you sing the words you know by heart and fudge the rest adding in woots and yeahs as you see fit.

No stage fright. No performance anxiety. You haven’t discovered those yet.

There are tears in my eyes and my heart feels like it’s ready to burst just listening to you sing without a care in the world. I wish I could keep the world this way for you forever–the way it is right now. But I can’t keep those bottles on the shelf and I can’t stop you from growing up.

My hope however is this: No matter how old you are you’ll always sing with abandon and be exactly who you want to be regardless of who is watching.

My desire to learn about so many things and to master (okay become proficient) a number of skills has reached epic level.

And this whole oh yeah I’m a political consultant thing can get in the way some days.

Plus? Sleeping?

How am I going to become a world famous photographer/knitter/gardener/well-read/self-actualized/uber-Mom/social media maven/baseball parent with all this work and sleep taking up my time?!

I’ve already given up the laundry, cooking and most of the cleaning (until my parents come in town or I’m hosting a real party), and still there is never enough time. This doesn’t even take into account the roots and eyebrows that constantly require maintenance.

Oh and also I should have added “organized, beautiful home-owning and fabulously fashionable” to my list above.

Shit.

Guess we’re all going to have to settle for friendly chick.

If you live in the DC area long enough, you get used to the myriad of government acronyms. I have friends who work for the CIA, DEA, ICE, BATF, IRS, DOT, OMB, FEC, DOJ and a host of others.

I learned about yet another new acronym today. Emily and Cooper over at The Motherhood pointed me to a recent announcement by the White House calling for Congress to form the CFPA or the Consumer Financial Protection Agency. You can read more about it here and here.

The White House, in an effort to expand online engagement, is reaching out to a variety of online communities–including mom bloggers–to take our questions about financial regulatory reform.

FINALLY, someone who wants to talk to me as a mom blogger about something besides diapers! And its The White House no less! I couldn’t be happier that our elected officials are beginning to understand the role of mothers (all parents, really) as financial decision makers and the effect stable markets have on our day to day life.

Upon Emily and Cooper’s encouragement, I submitted the following questions.

1. What effect will the proposed Consumer Financial Protection Agency (CFPA) have on current regulatory agencies? Will regulators and rules be consolidated under this new umbrella? Which agencies in particular will be moved? How long will it take to streamline the process? How will overlapping regulations or loopholes be closed if contradictions exist?

2. Which, if any, provisions will be put in place under this new agency to protect those Americans who practice fiscal responsibility? In other words, which specific provisions will be put in place to make it more lucrative for financial institutions to conduct honest business with financially responsible clients rather than what they can stand to gain by exploiting those who are in desperate financial situations?

Tomorrow, the Chair of the Council of Economic Advisers, Dr. Christina Romer, a mom of three herself, will answer our questions directly by video.

I wonder if mine will make the cut. You know I’ll keep you posted.