I want to be the kind of mom that lets my kid eat dirt occasionally. You know, the type that doesn’t freak out over the little things. I want to be the mom that lets my kid discover things on his own, even if that results in a few scabby knees that I later kiss, clean, and cover with a Spiderman band-aid.
I want to be the mom that makes a big freaking deal out of birthdays. Not the pinterest-shabby-chic-vintage-party kind of deal but the kind of deal where my baby is SO excited to wake up on his birthday because he knows what’s coming. He knows there will be chocolate chip pancakes and confetti and a trip to the zoo and juice boxes galore. He knows he’ll be allowed to stay up past his bedtime and eat extra dessert and *possibly* skip his nightly bath. Yes. I want to be the mom who makes a big freaking deal out of birthdays.
I want to be the kind of mom who goes down the slide and lets my kid eat snacks on the kitchen counter. I want to be an on-the-floor type of mom.
I want to be the kind of mom who teaches my son to love everyone regardless of race, religion, sexual orientation, or any other difference under the sun. I want to be the mom who teaches my son that it’s our job to love people like Christ loves people. I want to be the mom who cares more about that lesson than anything he learns in algebra class.
Speaking of algebra class, I want to be the kind of mom who helps with homework (even if that means seeking much-needed help on the iPad). I want to be the mom who always has the good snacks and the good juice boxes. I (secretly) want to be a cool mom. I even want to be the kind of mom who knows how to throw a football.
I want to be the kind of mom who asks all the right questions at the right times—questions about girls and friends and drugs and sex. I want to be the kind of mom who doesn’t let the fear of having an awkward conversation hinder me from having a life-saving conversation with my child.
I want to be the kind of mom who is imperfect—who makes mistakes, forgets dentist appointments, and occasionally burns dinner. I want to be the kind of mom that admits wrongdoing and apologizes, who shows her children every day that she needs and depends on Jesus to make her whole.
I want to be the kind of mom who handles temper tantrums with grace, even in the middle of Target. I want to be the kind of mom who looks at another mom dealing with a tantrum and offers her a nod, a knowing smile, and a thumbs up to let her know she’s doing the best she can.
I want to be a joy-giver, a heart-shaper, a soul-steward.
And perhaps most of all, I want to be the kind of mom who loves hard—unconditionally—the person her child grows up to be, fully knowing and believing that God designed them.
I start the gig in five weeks. Wish me luck.