Listen up, parents. We’ve got some important work to do. And it can’t wait.

I’ve taught kindergarten through middle school. I’ve worked in poor neighborhoods and rich ones, in charter, private and public schools, in different states and even in a different country; and though I’ve seen many differences, there are a few things I undoubtedly see day after day, year after year in my classroom—without fail:

I see kids who are begging for someone to really listen to what they’re saying; kids who are begging to be HEARD.

I see kids who need someone to really look at what they’re doing; kids who need to be SEEN.

I see kids who are searching for someone to acknowledge their best efforts regardless of the outcomes.

I see kids who are praying for someone to validate their feelings, no matter how big or small they seem.

I see kids who are desperate to be loved just as they are.

They will stare, my darling, but you just look the other way — for as you grow you’ll come to know that they’re simply blinded by your radiant light,

and those that are meant to stay in your life will sit by your side and feel the warmth of your blazing fire.

People don’t really talk about it all that much, but making good mom friends is kinda hard.

I’m not really sure why, but it’s not easy to find someone you can really feel comfortable around—especially when your kids are there, too.

I remember quietly crying in the back seat of my parent’s car on the way back to college for my second semester.

At the time, I attributed my tears to the dreary skies and frigid cold of Boston and to leaving my brother and friends at home once again.

But looking back, I was emotional for a lot of reasons

She watched me talking on the phone while my kids were playing at the park.  She doesn't know I had been waiting for a call back from the doctor so she must think I‘m just gossiping with a friend.  She probably thinks I’m a terrible, negligent mother. 

Please don’t judge me. I’m doing the best I can. 

We have got to start letting boys express their feelings. 

We want boyfriends and husbands who can be vulnerable with us, who can open up to us, who can tolerate listening to us, who can cry in front of us...

We want our girls to one day meet men who are emotionally available, who aren’t closed up, who aren’t afraid to feel and can be honest about who they truly are...

Hi mommy. It’s me, your toddler.

I want you to know something that might not be so clear all the time: I am doing the best I can.

Sometimes it seems like you wish I had a whole lot more figured out by now—like how to control my body and emotions all the time. Or how to manage my time, fix my mistakes, or keep myself busy on my own.

But, I haven’t been around very long, and this whole life thing is still taking some getting used to.

I know they say never to wake a sleeping baby, but I really want to feel your cheek on my chest,

so tonight I’m going to hold you. 

I know some nights I can’t wait for you to sleep soundly, but then I always miss the sound of your sweet little voice,

so tonight I’m going to hold you. 

“No! I can do it by myself.”

It’s the current mantra of my two toddlers that echoes throughout the walls of our home, the doors of our car, and sometimes what seems like the clouds in the sky.

Getting dressed. Putting shoes on.
Brushing teeth. Putting car seat buckle on.
Doing hair. Putting soap on.

Walking. Cooking. Eating. Playing.

You get the picture.

My first born slept through the night very early on.

She slept right through diaper changes, door creaks, and daylight savings—she just loved her crib and loved her sleep.

Does this mean she was a “good baby”?

That’s a ridiculous question people asked moms.

Does this mean I was a “good mom”?

Nope. Not at all.

Baby boy,

I gaze down at you while you dream and I can’t help but wonder:
Can I do this? Will I be a good enough mother for you?

You see, I’ve never done this before. I’ve never raised a son.
This is all new to me, and if I am honest, I’m pretty afraid.

One thing about motherhood that no one really prepares you for is all of the thinking that moms do.

If it were possible to do so, I think it would be done, but it simply isn’t; there are some things about being a mom that you just cannot begin to understand until you become one.

Moms across the globe may differ in more ways than one, but there is something that surely unites us all: we do not stop thinking about our children—ever.

We had gotten into a fight about who knows what and I remember sitting on my bed replaying everything in my head and feeling frustrated that I wasn’t able to make sense of nearly any of it.

A few minutes later, my mom came back into my room.

She sat down and she apologized to me.

“You fill up my tank.”

It’s something I recently said to my mother.

It’s something moms do for their kids—we fill up their tanks.

Mamas, let’s let them see us.

Let’s let our daughters see us. Let them in, let them watch, let them learn, let them know, let them be.

Let’s let them hear us whisper—or roar—our wishes, our goals, our desires.

Let’s let them watch us struggle and fall, and then struggle and fall again another time.

I never knew.

Now that you are three, I can honestly say I never knew how life-changing the year of you being two would be—for both of us.

From the day you turned two all the way through the day you turned three, you taught me more about life, love, myself, and you than I could have ever imagined.

Oh, the days were long, my little firework, but I wouldn’t dare change a single moment.

Balance.

The plans, the schedules, meals, the shopping, the cleaning.
The folding, the washing, the tucking in, the getting up, the waking in the night.
The boo-boos, the big emotions, the hard talks, the deep moments.
The stories, the buildings, the cars, the play-doh.
The dolls, the babies, the balls, the games.

I want to stop time from moving so fast.
I want to stop time from letting you grow.

I want to stop time so we can stay in these moments longer.
I want to stop time so we can be in this phase on end.

…

I want to stop time and just be present in these precious moments forever.

And though it is hard to know I can't, I know our future moments together will be just as special.

So, while I stay in the present moment today, I can't wait for tomorrow with you.

My daughter won’t hear me tell her she has to “do it all.”

Instead, she’ll hear me ask God to keep guiding us both to do what we’re meant to do and be who we’re meant to be.

And she’ll see me doing my best trying to show her that we’re both better off doing what makes us feel genuinely happy —rather than endlessly finding ways to do all.of.the.things.

Your words matter.

They’re listening

even when you think they’re not.

Their eyes may be down,

but their ears are up.

She is gentle, yet fierce. 
She is graceful, yet strong. 
She is cautious, yet vivacious.
She is sweet, yet salty.

When God gives a girl a brother...

He gives her someone to play with—
someone to push cars with, to ride bikes with, and to dress up with.

And he gives her a hand to hold—
when she's afraid of the dark, nervous at the bus stop, or scared at the doctor.

She says: I am nervous about giving birth. 

Society says: That’s normal. Everything will be fine. 

She says: I feel very scared to leave the hospital. I wish I could take these nurses with me. 

Society says: That’s normal. You’ll figure it out. 

My little girl, 
You are too young to understand this now, but one day years from now you may find yourself looking for a man to marry.

And from now until that day comes I will pray to God above you’ll find someone who loves you the way your daddy loves me and who will love your children the way your daddy loves his.

Dear children,

It’s hard for me to put into words the beginning of a lifelong prayer that is being written in my heart for you as each day I watch you grow goes by—but I am going to try. 

The baby steps are really the big steps.

My son stood in the sand—something not even that new to him—for quite some time.
From the outside, it didn’t look like he was doing much,
but on the inside, I knew that was far from the truth.

Motherhood has changed me.
I used to pride myself on my inability to sit still;
I identified with the need to move, think, and do— constantly.

And I continued to do so after my first born arrived...
until I kind of crumbled and just couldn’t anymore.