Someday, maybe they'll realize I was here.
Every morning and afternoon after school.
I laid awake at night worrying about EVERY. SINGLE. THING.
I did the little things.
The not always fun things.
I folded their laundry, cooked their meals, signed them up for things, made sure to get the snacks they like.
Because today the handmade Valentine's made at school for someone they love, go to daddy and Grandma.
Because the homemade Christmas gifts for someone they love, go to Grandma.
Their daily drawings that they are so proud of, go to their brother.
Their wood projects from kid workshop day at Home Depot, are too precious to be given away.
And personal narratives they are writing about at school, are about times with their dad.
The reality of being a mom.
P.S. If I could go back and make sure my mom felt special more often, especially on our birthdays, the days that changed her life, I'd give anything. Of course, the reality, she's still waiting for the calendar I'm making her for her birthday this year, a month ago. Sorry, mom.