Listen Y'all…

This seemingly ordinary chair has seen each of our days together – sitting in the corner, inconspicuously soaking up sweet memories that are all too fleeting.

This chair held me as I held each of you before you were born. It heard the quiet lullabies as I rubbed my belly and thought about the fears and my excitement knowing that I would soon hold you in my arms.

Then, this chair became the place where we shared some of our most precious moments together. It’s where we read “Goodnight Moon” every night for two years. It’s where I first sang you the song that my mom sang to me as a little girl…a dream come true. It’s where you learned the words to that song as you grew and began to sing along.

Some day I will hold my children’s children in this chair.

It’s where I rocked you to sleep on nights when I just couldn’t bear to lay you down or let you go. It’s where I nursed you for the first time and where I cried as I nursed you for the last time. It’s where we both fell asleep, your head on my chest breathing in sync, heartbeats in rhythm.

It’s where I spent sleepless nights worried about a fever or a lingering cough. This chair is where I prayed over you and where I asked for patience and wisdom. It’s where I cried as you slept when I felt like I had been too harsh that day.

In this chair, daddy held you and recorded a story book the night before he took our hearts overseas for God and country. Then, where daddy sang to you after you didn’t recognize his face when he finally made it home.

When one became two and two became three, it’s where I sat and spoke words of love and assurance over you knowing that in the morning life would look very different for our little family.

This chair has heard laughter and seen tears. It’s heard stories and songs and heartfelt prayers.

It’s nothing special to look at – just your average chair.

I almost let it go once, making room for the future. But in the end it felt like a part of me. A part of us. A carrier of our memories. And some day I will hold my children’s children in this chair.

Nothing in all the parenting books prepared me for this… for seeing him this grown. For this glimpse of the man he will become.

Nothing prepared me for what it would feel like to watch him make real friends… friends that weren’t just friends because of convenience, but friends who would laugh with him, encourage him, and push him to be the best version of himself. Friends who would share his success and feel his disappointment with him. Who stand beside him at the blocks and walk with him through the fire.

-Jennifer Tanner

Listen y’all,

There’s a very fine line that every mom walks. There is a very fine line that determines exactly how much spit up is too much before she needs to change her shirt because she’s trying to pretend to be a normal human being versus just wiping it off, spraying herself with Febreze, and going about her day. But, let’s be honest, it would be completely impractical to change outfits every time some bodily fluid made contact with said fabric because in the end that only adds to the pile of laundry that is already going to be impossible to conquer in this generation. Hot mess mommas are saving that for our children’s children. It’s not global warming they need to fear…it’s residual laundry left waiting to be sorted and folded for decades.

…sometimes it is in everyone’s best interest to let the 3-year-old eat sprinkles before bedtime.

I say, it is time for hot mess mommas to unite. We waste so much time trying to appear like we have it all together – valuable time that could be spent on that unending pile of laundry (or binge watching Real Housewives…whichever).

Listen y’all, I’ve been there. Have you ever had a 3-year-old to tell you to stop being a baby as you sit on the edge of a bathtub with tears in your eyes and your head in your hands? Ever had a 5-year-old say, “I know you’re trying to be a good mom, but you’re just not making good choices.” I have!

When there’s nothing else to be done, embrace it. Embrace the chaos and the mess and the laughter and give yourself a little credit. The kids are fed, although it may be tortillas and yogurt for the third time today. The kids get a bedtime story, although sometimes we skip a few pages to expedite the process. The kids are happy, although sometimes it’s because we celebrated life with McDonald’s for the third time this week. The baby’s diaper is clean, although the old one is now stacked on top of the Diaper Genie that is too full to stuff even one more soiled Pamper. They are finding their independence and who cares if that means mismatched outfits and shoes on the wrong feet?

And best of all, most likely having little to with us and everything to do with the sweetness of their spirits, they are kind and sincere and empathetic and smart and funny. They love fiercely and they see you trying momma. Somehow, intuitively, they know how to humble you like know one else can. But, they also know that a tiny voice saying, “You’re a good mommy,” with arms wrapped around your neck, can move mountains.

It should come as no surprise that there is a very fine line that separates a mom’s sanity from complete and utter derailment. So, listen y’all, sometimes it is in everyone’s best interest to let the 3-year-old eat sprinkles before bedtime. Because sometimes, when you’re a hot mess mom…you. just. can’t. And if you’re asking yourself right this moment, “Can’t what?” then you’re not a hot mess mom and you just wouldn’t understand.