The tattoo on my face

Oh Sundays. I love them and hate (hate is bad word in our house, if Eleanore could read she would definitely reprimand me) them. I love that Bryan is home earlier than normal (granted he leaves at 6:30 or 7 a.m. for church meetings and doesn't get home until 3 or 3:30 p.m., so it is just about as long as a work day, but it feels like a break to have him home in the early afternoon). Going on, I love that we all get in our comfy clothes after church and we are able to hang out and play as a family. I love that we try and relax and don't feel pressure to get a lot of other tasks done.

On the other hand, Church is exhausting. It is hard getting the girls there on my own, it is hard keeping them somewhat quiet during sacrament meeting, and it is embarrassing knowing that half the people there are watching my every move throughout the meeting (I'm not reading into things...people stop me in the hall all the time and say they "just love watching you during sacrament meeting." I am sure they mean well, and think my kids are cute. But it is embarrassing. Really, are they watching when I am threatening Eleanore with all I've got (loss of TV and treats or being thrown into the classroom down the hall that we've deemed the "time-out" room) and are they watching as I feed my babies way too many animal cookies to keep them quiet? Then after sacrament meeting I feel so out of place because I can't go to Primary where I am supposed to be because all the kids want to play with Ivy and Maya, and I don't feel like I can go to Sunday School and Relief Society because I am supposed to be in Primary. So I sit in the hall for the last two hours of church. By the end I am always wondering why I came. I guess it comes down to just being obedient.

After church today I made the kids macaroni and cheese that they didn't really eat, cleaned up the French toast that I made them for breakfast that was all over the floor and cleaned up the milk that was spilled on the floor, three times in a row. Then I tried to teach Eleanore to throw a frisbee (in the house...ahhh...what kind of a mother am I?) and taught Ivy and Maya to stick out their tongues. Eleanore and I held the girls hands played ring-around-the-rosie. It was so cute.

Then, feeling lazy, I decided to try and do something I haven't done in at least three years. Read a book that wasn't the scriptures or a picture book and wasn't about parenting or breastfeeding or dieting or getting toddlers to eat or business or writing. Just one I've been wanting read: Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, but after reading the first few chapters I'm not sure I'm going to enjoy as much as I thought...don't think I've got too much in common with her thinking. However I am glad I picked up the book because there is a line that has be repeating in my mind all day.

I read it while laying on the couch with Eleanore snuggled on my left shoulder, Maya sitting on my belly and Ivy curled up on my chest, and me holding the book as high as I could so they couldn't snang it out of my hands (thus the reason I don't do much recreational reading). It said, "Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face.You really need to be certain it's what you want before you commit." 

I'm definitely committed. Every second of my day revolves around these girls from the cracker crumbs I sweep off the floor five times a day to the goobers that appear on my shoulder without fail within moments of putting a clean shirt on, to the days I spend putting puzzles together, coloring pictures, reading stories, and playing dolls between loads of laundry and rocking babies and the things I lay in bed worrying about as I go to sleep each night and the calls for "mama" that wake me up each morning. My commitment is broadcasted when I get stares everywhere we go, and comments from strangers who feel they need to give my their sympathy and say, "So I guess your done?" (heard that twice this week) and more frequently, "Boy, you've got your hands full don't you?" (can't tell you how many times I've heard that this week...and definitely not in the last year).

These girls are the tattoo on my face. And I wouldn't change a thing. I know most of my blog readers are moms...and committed moms at that. We all have our exasperated moments (like what I was feeling at about the third milk spill today--by that way, maybe that is a great way of calculating the time of day), but the good thing is it doesn't take us long to get our heads on right and be glad we got our tattoo(s).