A Letter

Dear Mean Mom,

I am giving you the day off. 

You've been showing up lately, when we are all tired, and it's 3:30pm, and Julia is jumping on the couch while Margaret nurses, and it's 6:30pm and Scott is stuck in traffic, and Julia hasn't brushed her teeth, and did I mention we are tired? We are so tired.

But here's the thing: you are not helping.

Your furrowed brow isn't getting Julia into the tub any faster. Your sighs don't make her keep on the boots, hats, or mittens she will take off 10 seconds into any drive, even if we are just zipping up the hill to school. Your ultimatums cannot reverse yet another potty training  regression. Even your attempts to explain that mommy is frustrated because Julia isn't listening are falling on deaf ears right now. Because she's 3 1/2 and you have a baby and it's winter and it's hard.

So today, I'm giving you the day off. Hell, take the whole weekend. Maybe soon, I'll even be able to fire you for good. Your replacement is here, drinking coffee before the sun rises, reminding herself to breathe deeply and if that fails, to eat chocolate. Because she knows in the deepest parts of herself that these days are fleeting, and even though they are hard, there's good stuff she can't afford to miss. She's ready to let go of some of the control and to have a little more fun while she's at it.

Thanks for your service, mean mom, but we don't need you today.