I swear I don't make this stuff up

We have already done the say prayers, take a sip of water, snuggle for a minute and kiss goodnight routine. We have left, and we are just sitting down on the couch for some of our own time when Ryan begins calling for me. I go in to see what's up, and he wants me to lay down with him. Not uncommon. So I walk over and kneel by his bed so we can snuggle some more. But I am tired. My back is hurting. So I pile up a couple of blankets and a pillow that are on the floor next to his bed and lay down. It only takes a second for him to lean his little body over the side and say, "I miss you down there, Mommy." He rolls off the bed, onto my chest, and then onto the floor next to me. I fluff up the blankets and pull his pillow down for him to lay on. It is dark. We are quiet. Just about the time I start thinking he is actually going to fall asleep right here on the floor, he pipes up, "Maybe I'm thinking.....tomorrow we can play princess. You can be the princess and I can be the prince." He is the cutest thing I have ever seen. "That's a great idea honey." We snuggle some more and after a little while, I scoop him up and put him back in his bed. Then I kiss my little prince goodnight, again.

Special

My parents divorced when I was very young. Being the oldest, I sort of became the "other adult" in the family, as do many first born children of divorced parents. As such, I grew up very fast. All through my childhood, teen years and into my early twenties people constantly told me how mature I was. I was mature beyond my years. I was smart. I was advanced. I was special. I think secretly I reveled in my uniqueness. I had an advantage over my peers that made me stand out and excel in school and later in the workplace. I can't tell you how many job reviews I have had where my boss has praised me for my maturity, intelligence, poise, and wisdom.
Then I hit my thirties and that all changed. It is almost like my physical age caught up with my intellectual age. Like the two time lines, once vastly different, are tracking exactly parallel to each other now. In fact, in all honesty, I think my physical age is actually beginning to surpass my intellectual age. Crap. How did this happen? I am no longer viewed as mature beyond my years. I don't stand out from my peers. I am not praised anymore for my maturity, intelligence, poise, and wisdom. I have spent the last few years struggling to reconcile this new me with my memories of the old me. In truth, I still don't have all the answers. Here is what I do know. I know that being a mom is the most important thing I have ever done, and that "mommy brain" is a price I am willing to pay. I know that I am still special to the Lord even if I don't feel special to the world. And I know that no matter what phase of life I am in, I will always be special to two boys who are very special to me. And that is enough for me. And I am totally okay with it.

Addendum:
Ok, I can't stand it. If you read the above post and feel sorry for me, please don't. I did not write it so a bunch of people would respond with notes about how great I am. I am not fishing for compliments or an ego boost here. My ego is just fine. I am not complaining. I am not depressed. Trust me. If I was, I never would have written this post.
Here's why I wrote it. One, I wrote it because it was on my mind, and has been for a while. Two, I wrote it because I truly (finally) do feel okay about it. Three, and most importantly, I have heard this same kind of story from others and thought (and this is the point which proves how fine my ego really is) that my experience and thoughts about this might be of help to someone feeling the same way.
The point of the story is to be happy with who you are not because of what other people think of you or say about you, but because of who you are to the One who created you. Because of who you are to your children, your husband, your wife. These are the most important relationships, and for me, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. So please don't feel compelled to tell me how cool I am. Unless you just genuinely can't help yourself. And if that's the case, I'll just smile and say "thanks."

Explosion in the spare room

I unpacked the spare room closet a couple of days ago. An explosion happened. I don't know how it happened. All I did was unpack three boxes labeled "crafts, beading, and sewing." Oh wait. Beading. That's what happened. I haven't done any beading since we moved. Since long before that actually. It was considered "non essential" and so it was one of the first things packed up. So there I was, surrounded by plastic tubs full of beads, beading tools, wire, string, bead books, and basically all things bead. To say I got distracted would be an understatement. Re-directed would be a better word. That's okay. I'm totally okay with it. Nan won't be here for a month so I have some time to clean it all up and get it ready for her and Noah. A month is plenty long enough. I think.

Rain coat and toothpaste

Its raining today. Ryan is running around the house with his rain coat on. With the hood up. Its very important to have the hood up, apparently. Jason went into the bathroom to finish getting ready, and made the discovery that "running around" is not all Ryan has been doing in his rain coat. I have no idea. To us, it is a mess. To a three year old boy, it is a super fun Saturday morning game.

Ugh...laundry

I am sitting in the hallway outside my laundry room surrounded by what can only be described as a sea of dirty clothes. I am sorting. And sorting. And sorting. I admit, it has been a few days since I have done laundry. Not many, just a few. A minute ago I started a load in the washer and I can hear it going through its different phases in the room behind me. As I continue to sort, and the washing machine continues through its cycle, I think to myself that the washer might beat me to the punch here and finish washing that load before I finish all the sorting. I call over to Jason, exasperated, "You know, there is something wrong in the world when the washing machine washes a whole load faster than I can sort all the rest of this laundry!" Without missing one single beat and totally nonchalantly he replies, "Is there something wrong with the washer or is there something wrong with you?" "Ha! You just earned yourself a date with my blog for that one!" And I go back to sorting.

Sentences you never thought you'd say

Ryan came in from the back yard and told me that he peed on the dog. Do I even want to ask why? "Honey, don't pee on the dog. He doesn't pee on you," I explain. This is all the motherly wisdom I can summon this early in the morning.

Spitting

Recently Ryan has discovered how to do zerbert things on various parts of my body. My arms, my legs, my face. This leaves me covered in zerbert slime. Lovely. Shortly after the "zerbert on body parts" realization, came the "zerbert in the air" realization. This leaves the air, the couch, the floor, and anything else in its path, sprayed in zerbert slime. Again, lovely. Let's just say the spraying is not one of my favorite things. There is a lot of "Ryan! Do not spit! It's gross!" going on in my house. The difficult part is not laughing with him, because when he gives you a zerbert his laugh is absolutely awesome! I must hear more of that laugh. I love it. Apparently, I love it enough to be constantly wiping slime off my arms! When the spit sprays, however, the love ends. I just can't deal with it. It's so grody. Enter this morning. I am sitting in the rocking chair drinking my coffee. Ryan walks over, climbs up, and snuggles in. Just as I am thinking how sweet a moment it is, he suddenly sneezes a huge sneeze and sprays sneeze spit all over my lap. Before I can say anything, he looks up at me all innocent. "It's okay, Mommy. That was just a bless you spit." He is so pleased with himself for explaining this to me. He snuggles back in and I think the moment is still sweet, even if I am covered in spit.