March 4th

Next Saturday is March 4th. Next Saturday, I'll be enjoying a day in Kansas City with friends, attending a concert we've all been excited to attend. I'm sure it will be a day full of fun and laughter as my friends never fail to disappoint in the entertainment department. But next Saturday is March 4th. 

I've never written publicly about the significance of March 4th in my world. Only very few of my closest family members and friends know the meaning of this date and how it relates to my life. 

I ask those of you reading this to keep an open mind and heart. Because some of those that read this may view it as hurtful or confusing. And  it is not my intention to hurt or confuse. However, the purpose of this blog is to help me deal with life and to hope that it helps others, so I'm opening up in regards to a very personal subject. 

What is March 4th? March 4, 2017 would have been my father's 48th birthday. 

Now, I know what some of you are thinking. What do you mean would have been your father's 48th birthday? Your dad is still alive and well. (I am in NO way discounting the dad that raised me from the time I was 3 by writing this post - if you feel that is my intention then maybe reading this blog is not for you). 

Jesse Dwane Cantrell. Born March 4, 1969. Died August 22, 1987.

My mother named me Jessica after him. Before I was adopted by my dad, we even shared the same initials, JDC (Jessica Danielle Childers - Childers being my mom's maiden name). 

I never got the chance to meet my biological father. My mom learned she was pregnant shortly after my father's passing. It wasn't until I was ten or so that my mom told me about him. I'll never forget the details of that day, the smell of pork chops frying in the kitchen or the sadness in my mom's voice as she told me about him. 

At 14, I spent a month of my summer in North Carolina with my Grandma. I expressed to her that I wanted to visit his grave-site, not to stir up trouble or questions, but for myself. She and my Aunt Betty took me to visit. I'll never forget how I felt, walking up to a grave-site half covered by a plant, for a man that I'd never known or get the chance to know, but who is very much a part of me. 

I don't know much about my father. For years, I could hardly get my mom to open up about him (although I can't say that I blame her or would be any different given the chance to walk in her shoes). But this year, I've gotten her to provide a little insight on him and who he was. 

He was a gifted guitar player (I wore a guitar pick of his pinned to my dress as my "something old" on my wedding day). He was outgoing. My mom learned to drive a "3 on the tree" from him. She says I get my free spirit from him. My creativity, my artsyness, my ability to write. And some of my stubbornness (but let's be honest, I get a lot of that from her too). 

Some days I swear I feel his presence around me. Isn't that crazy? To feel the presence of someone I've never known? 

March 4th sneaks up on me every year. My mood the few days leading up to it is often "off." I've had a great life, blessed beyond measure, but March 4th stirs up a lot of feeling and emotion within me. 

So this year, on your birthday, I'm going to commemorate you by spending an evening with my friends, at a concert (because I know you loved music, even if you wouldn't be thrilled with my choice in it). Hope you're looking down and smiling. 

Mommin' Ain't Easy

"I'm a mother. My hobbies include neglecting my hair, repeating myself over and over, daydreaming about bed time, constantly picking up my couch cushions from the floor and never peeing by myself."

The above quote is my life in a nutshell. 

Some mornings, I look at myself in the mirror and think to myself, "daaaannng girl, lookin' good!" Others, I could double as a zombie from The Walking Dead. Mornings in our household are a little hectic. Two adults trying to get themselves ready for the day on top of getting two children ready? I can tell you this, it's nothing like a morning from a Leave It To Beaver episode. There is no sitting down for breakfast as a family and talking about the day ahead. There is chaos. I have a fourth grade boy who is less than enthusiastic about getting out of bed most mornings. On more than one occasion, it's taken him more than five minutes to get his shoes on and tied. Some mornings it's followed up with "Mom, I need to read this to you," or "Tristan, why haven't you eaten your breakfast yet?" Pair that with a two year old who takes her time on the potty, sometimes even refusing to go before we need to leave. One that's got her own sense of style and doesn't always want to wear her "sparkle shoes" or sit still long enough to let you tame her wild mane. Not to mention, before walking out of the door every morning we must have ALL of the following things: 1) her blanket 2) her monkey 3) her milk and 4) her snack. 

When I first became a mom, I'd always imagined I'd be one of those moms who was good at everything. You know, the mom who schedules pictures of her kids every 6 months and has them framed and on display for everyone to see. A mom who always made homemade treats for birthdays and holidays, who had the best themed birthday parties on the block. The mom who never missed a school event. 

But...those days are in the rear view mirror. Because, quite frankly, I struggle to keep my poop in a group most days. 

I yell when I don't mean to. Sometimes it's because I'm running late, sometimes it's because I've heard "Mom" so many times I feel like I can't catch my breath. 

I forget to check backpacks.

I forget to send checks for lunch money.

My homemade Valentine's look like something you'd see on a Pinterest fails board.

I forget it's picture day and send my kid with his hair a mess.

There are days my daughter's clothes don't coordinate. Heck, sometimes she goes to daycare in her pajamas. 

Sometimes I sit in the bathroom longer than needed, just to get an extra five minutes to myself. 

I intend to make the hours between 9pm and 11pm "me time." But that time often ends with a child in my bed and the TV show that I have recorded and have been anxious to watch getting shut off and replaced by Mickey Mouse, Sofia, PJ Masks or Full House. Or the book I've been so excited to read, gets read for about five minutes before I fall asleep. And let's be honest, I'm kidding myself by even thinking that I could make it to 11pm. 

Case and point? Last Saturday evening, Jacob and I were kid-free as they were spending the night with my Mom. We went to an early dinner at 4:30 and had the whole night ahead of us! Guess who fell asleep on the couch at 8pm? Yep, me. 

And yet, despite the trying times, being a mom is the one gig I wouldn't trade for the world. 

I hope that years from now, my children look back on their childhood with fond memories. I hope remember that mom always tried, even when some days it didn't seem like it. I hope that they realize that even though there are tough times and I don't always handle mom situations well, I love being their mother. Every. Single. Minute. 

So yes, I'm going to continue to "fail." I'm going to give in to a two year old who wants cookies for breakfast. I'm going to embarrass my nine year old by yelling "I love you" out of the window of the truck while in the drop off line at school. I'm going to buy that new toy or game they want, right now, instead of making them wait for their birthday or Christmas. I'm going to let Tristan stay up past his 9pm bedtime, on a school night, to finish a movie we started. And I'm going to let a wandering two year old climb into my bed and snuggle her until she goes to sleep. 

Mommin' ain't easy, it's one hell of a ride. But dang-gone-it. It's the best ride of my life.