We went through the doors like a herd of drunk emu.

To be honest I don’t know what a drunken emu really looks like. But, seriously, if it can cause panic on the faces of hairdressers in Great Clips across the country, you have to wonder if the emu might not know something we don’t.

Cause, Dude, panic.

We caused it.

It was great!

The looks on their faces as we filled their little lobby, was only better when our friends showed up and added three more to the mix.

They smiled so nice and cut bangs, bobs, and high and tight in hopes of getting us out of there.

Then the kids knocked over one of their signs.

And did you know that when a seven year old hits one bottle of shampoo the whole display goes down like dominoes?

Apparently they do.

I wonder if a $7.00 haircut pays for the broken chair the kids left behind.

I think they were glad to see us go.

Drunken emu.

That’s all I got to say.

“Is there anything wrong, mama?”

My six-year-old will ask while she lays her head of soft brown locks on my chest.  She wraps her little arms as far as they will go to offer comfort on those days when I feel less than whole.  Maybe no one knows the way she does…not even her yet.

It’s there some days.  That tendency to have a pity party and feel sorry for myself.  Some days I just get fed up because I feel like we’ve been through too much.  Isn’t it enough?  How much more can we take?  Can it be someone else’s turn to be strong and inspiring for once?

We had to do a stroke.  We had to pull it together and do pediatric cancer. We had to do eighteen months apart. We had two more strokes.  A coma.  Rehab. And this body that takes a lot of work.

We have had enough.

We really have.

And if not WE have had enough, I have had enough.

I’m tired of always struggling.  I’m tired of always fighting. I’m tired of always being the one to make choices that are strong.

Then my daughter puts her soft arms around me.  Arms full of life and expectation.  She’s expecting that I’ll never give up.  She never did.  She’s expecting my fighting spirit.  The one I told her she was full of every time they did something painful to her.  She expects that I’ll be just as strong as she was and just as much of a fighter.

For that girl who had cancer at two-years-old and fought it for years, I can fight too.

Never letting her down.

There is this place in my house that will give me a great view.

I can see incoming traffic and the cute lawn guys.

Every day I get the best look at the new plants by my driveway and the kids riding their bikes back and forth.

Then the weather will get hot.  Kids will start to play in sprinklers. They want the fun that can only the backyard can bring.

The backyard that I can’t get to….or see.

I have to be happy for their good time.  Of course I smile when they do.  Those little stinkers will spread their fun around.

I know, STINKERS…yeah, yeah, I still love ‘em.

I have these limitations, things I have to work around or through.

But when it’s my own backyard….it suck.

Total Suckage.

I woke to the smell of cooking eggs and muffins.

“Don’t look, mama!!” is screamed at me.

Plates made of goofy writing and coffee cups with smiling pictures adhered carefully are as good as gift of gold.

The sun shines down on gleaming smiles and freshly scrubbed faces.

“He’s touching me!”

“She used my blue legos!”

The worst tragedies ever.

Clearly.

We manage lunch with grandmas that do not end in bloody messes.

Chicken!  Corn-on-the-cob!  Cole slaw!  Maiming!  Destruction!

Naptime finally arrives.

“I wanna have a lemonade stand!”

“I wanna play <insert gaming system here>!”

I run…RUN….one-legged….to the nap.

Night will come with bedtime and little dragging feet.

The kids hug so hard to avoid the bed.  That’s alright, I’ll take advantage.

“I need a drink,” They declare a hundred times.

“i need to go potty,” They declare a hundred and one.

They finally sleep and I get to work.  Yawning means work is over for the night.

I head my chair off to bed, and am surprised at what I find.

Kids comfy, cozy, sleeping in my bed.

Happy Mother’s Day to me.