Sitting here, on the barstool at our kitchen island - my new favorite writing spot once the kids are in bed and Ben has kissed me goodnight before heading upstairs himself - the house is quiet except for the hum and rhythmic click of zippers from laundry being tossed around in the dryer.
I'm snacking on a bowl of the granola bars I made with the kids today. It's in a bowl because they never set and are all crumbly so I have to eat it with a spoon. I choose a kiddie spoon out of the drawer, realizing in that moment that we'll soon be getting rid of all the kiddie cutlery. At three and five my kids no longer want to use a tiny plastic fork or spoon, protesting when I still serve them cereal with the brightly colored utensils.
Practically every night I worry that I'm failing them as a mom. Why is it I always play back the mistakes I made during the day, rather than recall the beautiful moments we had playing and laughing and snuggling together? I wonder if I'm too focused on my own personal goals and feel guilty I don't consciously set goals as a mom.
I want to make significant changes in this new year, this fresh start. I want to check email less, and bake with my kids more. I want to complain less and drink in the giggles more. I want to not stress out over small things and hug my family and friends more. I want to be less critical and be more appreciative. I want to not freak out when the kids are simply being kids, and instead smile and file the memory of how they are at these ages away so I never forget.
Every day is a new chance to try again. Another day to try my best at being the absolute best mom I can be for my kids.
