Motherhood story

Sacrificing a favorite shirt for my sons

I'm a city girl. A bagger at the grocery store actually asked if I knew the TV show “Green Acres” because I reminded him of a girl who left the city, moved out to the country and pretended to be a farmer.

I wasn't sure if I should be complimented (that actress was really pretty) or insulted. The fact is that I do live in rural Texas with my farmer husband and 3 loud boys. They love the wide open spaces and revel in the chance to explore. We were outside one afternoon, boys playing, me reading a magazine. It was peaceful. It was nice. I should have known that when all appears serene, calm and lovely in the world of raising 3 small boys, some mischief is brewing.

Walt, one of my 5-year-old twins, was limping towards me with tears in his eyes. “Mommy, I need my boots!” he sniffled. I noticed he was very muddy and not wearing shoes.

I looked down at my favorite white shirt. Date night was in about an hour and the white shirt would be the perfect thing—I had the outfit all planned out in my head. My attention snapped back from pondering my clothes as I could hear the other two boys at the bottom of the hill, laughing along with the unique sound of mud thudding.

I threw caution to the wind and decided to carry Walt up the hill to the house. He didn't have much mud—I thought I could prove the strength of my stain remover if he got me a bit muddy. I told him to strip down and wait for me on the back patio while I gathered up brothers.

John, twin #2, met me climbing out of the pond, also with tears. His shoes and socks had gotten sucked into the mud and he was climbing barefoot. His face was muddy as were his feet. There was no way I was going to let him trudge up the hill with grassburrs eagerly awaiting his tender little feet. I picked him up under an arm and carried him to the back patio.

I then headed back down for boys#3, David, a 3-year-old that loves mud. He was covered in it. His feet were stuck in the mud but it didn't bother him. When he saw me, he greeted me happily with, “Hi, Mommy! Want to play mud fight?” No, I didn't. He was happy so I decided to salvage socks and shoes of brothers while he played a bit longer. The shoes and socks were completely submerged in the filth. It took some effort to find them all. I threw them back up the hill, hoping I could find them later. I then went for David.

I looked down at my white shirt. There were brown smears from mud, but it was still salvagable. After carrying David I knew I would be covered in brown. For a moment I considered taking the shirt off and quickly carrying David up the hill. The back of our house is pretty much hidden from the neighbors, but the hill can be seen if someone is looking as they drive by. I chose not to be the weird nudist neighbor that would probably become popular with my male neighbors but very unpopular with their wives.

I scooped David up and got ready to climb out of the pit and up the hill. The mud happily sucked his light up sneakers into the mud. I quickly pulled them out and thew them up the hill. I pulled him up under my right arm and started out of the mud, but my rain boots stayed put. They were stuck. I had a moment of panic—my twins were unsupervised on the back patio, the 3-year-old depending on me to get him up the hill and I was unable to move. I took a deep breath, put him down, pulled my boots away from the vicious enemy mud, picked him back up and trudged up the hill for the third time.

When I put him down, I looked down and saw my lovely shirt was completely covered in mud and I was mad. They stripped, bathed and were happy in Pjs watching TV as I quickly got ready for my date. I called my mom, expecting empathy. Nope. She instead gave me a lecture about keeping a better eye on the boys when they're playing outside. I told my husband, expecting a big hug and a heartfelt thank you for all I sacrifice for my boys. I thought he may even offer to get me a new shirt to replace the ruined one. Instead, he told me since no one was hurt I needed to let it go and not make such a big deal of it. Awesome. Just what I wanted to hear.

So I called a friend. A fellow mom in the trenches that does her best every day like I do. She listened, laughed at the appropriate places and told me to write this one down and add it to the other adventures I've had with the boys. Like when one dropped a board on my head from the play fort, resulting in a horrible black eye. No hospital visit, but certainly embarrassing at church and grocery shopping.

Mothering has picture perfect moments like first words, celebrating staying dry all night long in underwear and watching a preschooler proudly write the letters in his name. Motherhood also means making lots of sacrifices like privacy (going to the bathroom alone is such a luxury!), a tidy house and quiet. Even the wardrobe goes through a change as favorite shirts get ruined and high heels put on the shelf because they make catching boys really challenging. And dangerous for me.

Through all this, it sure is nice to have friends I can call who really get it. Whose kids also ruin their clothes right before date night. The Lord knew I would need an army of mom friends to help me remember to laugh through the various adventures of motherhood.

My mom was right—I was at fault for not watching the boys more closely. My husband was also right—no one was hurt so this really wasn't a big deal. But it was a big deal to me that they could have been hurt, that I had been physically trapped in the mud and that a favorite piece of clothing was no longer. My friends got it. They reminded me that one day this will be a great story to tell my daughters-in-law as we watch my grandkids do equally ridiculous things.

-------

I would love comments!  I have until Friday to submit this.  If you think it should be cut down, tell me.  If I didn't explain something well, let me know so I can.  The competition doesn't have a word limit and the winners are going to be used to help Matthew West write a song dedicated to MOPs moms for Mother's Day.  I don't know if my voice is representative of other MOPs moms, but who knows?  Maybe Matthew West will write a song all about this crazy adventure.