Why Am I Here?

I ask myself that question all too often. Especially on days when it seems everyone in the house is screaming and no one can be made happy no matter what I do. On those days I live for naptimes so I can bask in the quiet. Thankfully, that's not every day. More often than not there is a lot of laughter from my boys and every day they seem to do something new. And if I weren't here at home with them I'd miss out on a lot of treasures, like how The Bug (my nearly four-year-old) trapped The Bear (my nearly two-year-old) under a toy bucket and sat on top of it or how The Bear signifies he's done with a meal by crumbling his food into microscopic pieces and tossing them to the floor. I think often of how I went into Motherhood willingly (rose-colored glasses firmly in place). I think with a bit of nostalgia (and a touch of mockery of my younger self) of how I would fold and refold baby clothes, dreaming of how perfect being a Mommy would be. In my daydreams, Mommy would spend her days watching her angelic infant sleep and gaze lovingly at him while he cooed at his vast menagerie of pastel-colored stuffed animals. The reality was a bit different however, as my precious bundle cried ALL THE TIME. He did offer a fair amount of predictibility for his crying fits: if his eyes were open, he was crying. And the stuffed animals fell victim to disinterest and neglect. Here I am almost four years later and Motherhood continues to be other than what I expected. It never occured to me that I would have to say "Don't sit on your brother's head" more often than a person ought. Or that I would know the instant I locked eyes with each of my boys that they would have my heart forever.

But why am I HERE? Why have I decided to share with you good people the daily travails of my life (and the staggering amount of poop I see in a single day)? Confession is good for the soul, they say. They also say misery loves company, so perhaps I'm simply aiming to share my burdens with a sympathetic ear. For what mom sees another mom struggling with cranky toddlers in a grocery store and doesn't think, simultaneously, "I've been there" and "Man, I'm glad that's not me today." In this blog, The General, will talk of her troops, keeping the living quarters clean, how we dodge bullets and put out fires, and what it takes to survive in the thick of the fight. It isn't always pretty, but the challenge is the food of life.