A little help, please....

Are you there God? It’s not Margaret. It’s me, Holly.

I thank you every night for my husband and my two dear children. I mean, I may not have preferred the 50 lbs. of weight gain per child, but you never heard me complain. The hemorrhoids were something special- thanks again. And the pain during delivery- a BIG ol’ thank you from me to you. Or, should I be thanking Adam and Eve for that one? In any case, I got through two pregnancies and have thanked you multiple times for those little blessings.

But, God, I need you now more than I ever have in my life. You see, you forgot to warn me about a few things before I made the decision not to have one, but two children. And, were you joking when you gave me two BOYS at that?

You see, you never told me that I would have to say goodbye to my $18 sassy lipstick that I splurged on so that Maddox could use it on his shirt, pants and bathroom walls.

You never told me that the child-proof Tylenol lid isn’t so child-proof, as Joey figured it out and dumped it all over the kitchen floor and used it as a finger paint, as he licked his fingers and said, “Mmmmmm.”

You never told me that when I thought I was being a fun mom by lifting Maddox up to the basketball hoop to dunk, that he would spend the next two hours pointing to the hoop, crying and wanting to dunk again and again and again. God, is one trip to the gym a day not enough for you?

You never told me that I would come to ask myself daily, “Is this a day where I’ll be able to fit in a shower?” And, you really pushed me to an all-time low when I decided it was better to cut my own hair than to schedule time with a real stylist. Is your next plan to feature me on the “Oprah Winfrey- Moms Who Have ‘Let Themselves Go’” episode?

You never told me that by the time my oldest turned 3 I would become a regular at Costco, purchasing syrup and “Fruit by the Foot” by the truckload. I thought I swore to you I’d never become “that” mom- did you miss that somewhere?

You never told me that my dog -- my difficult, trying, challenging, psychotic dog-- would actually end up being the easiest to manage – and my only female companion in the house.

You never told me that this much testosterone under one roof could mess with my hormones – more than any pregnancy ever has. When I find myself crying during a Pampers commercial, I would have thought you maybe would have stepped in.

You never told me that my kids could make use out of anything of value within these walls….gift-wrapping paper as weapons; tissue paper as confetti; the dog as a horse; the curtains as tents; the blinds as Batman’s hideaway; the chapstick as lotion; the playdoh as carpet; the toilet as drinking water; the outlets as finger puppets; the t.v. as a goalpost; the dvds as Frisbees and my shoes for hiding food. Is nothing sacred anymore, God?

You never told me that it actually was possible to put a washcloth and a Batcopter over the shower drain, fill the entire shower, have it flood the bathroom floor and soak through to the living room ceiling. The least you could do is sign me up for flood insurance. I deserve it after that stunt.

You never told me that after pushing my children to learn “mama” and “dada” that I would want to go just 5 minutes without hearing that word. Just 5, God. Is that too much to ask?

Perhaps you have mistaken me with Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt’s nanny? Perhaps you felt I could handle his for some unknown reason. Oh yes, God. You knew these things and gave me no fair warning. Other moms gave me no signs. Books offered no expertise in these subject matters.

So, I come today to you asking for your help. God, please help me get through each one of these joyous days with you by my side. Grant me patience the next time Maddox puts his toothbrush in the toilet. Grant me courage the next time Joey yells “I’m not sharing!” Grant me humility the next time I walk into Target without bathing or grooming. Grant me peace as I watch Maddox deck Joey three times in a row. Grant me compassion for the carpet-cleaner when he is called to clean puke, poop and playdoh out of my carpet. And, grant me a nap -- a 2-hour nap-- in my near future.

God, you never told me those things, but you also never told me that I wouldn’t trade these crazy-hectic-frustrating-challenging-insanely beautiful-days for anything. Maybe you knew what you were doing afterall. And, maybe a third baby would make it even better.
Love,
Holly

P.S. The third baby wasn’t meant for right now, God. Don’t push your luck.