I’m a Momtog Mommy Blogger. What of it?

I’m a Momtog Mommy Blogger. What of it?

I’m surrounded right now by the deep, rhythmic sounds of little boys breathing and the occasional muffled under-the-covers farts, and I can’t help but think, “Yep, it really is that good.”

It didn’t start out that great today, though.

I read a tweet today by a guy I follow simply because he’s hilarious and kind of pokes fun at lots of regular stuff. The tweet kind of rubbed me the wrong way, though; something about this or that being “just another ‘how great it is to be a mom’ blog”. I realized it irritated me because that’s what I write about and take pictures of every day, and I certainly didn’t want anyone to make fun of it.

The truth is, I believe we all choose to focus on different aspects of our lives. Today, for instance, I could have chosen to linger in and pout about the battle my husband and I had this morning over hurt feelings. I could have let the grumpy, clingy mood of my toddler that nearly made me pull my hair out stay with me throughout the day. I most certainly could have let the rain that started to really come down on us during our patio lunch ruin the fact that this was how our weekend getaway was starting out, and oh yeah, I forgot to pack pants and long-sleeved shirts for the boys and me because I didn’t check the weather forecast that was turning out to be a little chilly and rainy. And should I also mention the stop at a coffee shop about four hours into our trip and the steamed-milk-that-was-too-hot for one boy (burned his tongue) and regular-milk-that-was-supposed-to-be-chocolate-milk for the other (sad, sad wails leaving the coffee shop), but the parents who wouldn’t fix it because the coffee shop baristas looked a little overwhelmed and sometimes it just doesn’t feel like the right thing to do to take your drinks back, and shouldn’t we be thankful for the yummy milk that we do have?

Those are the not-so-great things about being a wife, mother, husband, father, child, person in general. But then? Then you pile all four of us, wet and chilly, into a car packed to the brim with the wrong clothes and the right tents and sleeping bags and snacks and such, and a two-year-old in the back seat starts to sing a made-up song that goes something like, “I’m goin’ camping wif ma brwoduh…” and everyone cracks up until we snort. “Little Bunny Foo-Foo” somehow morphs into “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” and there’s an extra chorus about the city of Norman, Oklahoma that my sister taught our boys on a recent trip. (It’s a godawful jingle for a car dealership that haunts me in my sleep. Thanks, Barb.)

And you know what? It really is great to be a mom.

Here’s proof.

Boys

Boys 2

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We’re in a tiny little spot of Colorado called Almont. Or Harmel. I can’t quite tell. The address of the place we’re staying says Almont, but the sign on the wagon says, Harmel, Colorado, Pop. 207.

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Doesn’t matter, really. The address could read 123 Awesome Street, Beautiful, USA for all I know.

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The air is sweet, the people are welcoming, and there’s horse poop everywhere.

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I’m shooting a wedding here tomorrow, and there’s a sense of celebration in the air. I saw the bride-to-be race by on a cruiser bike today; she looked like she was 14 again and barefoot in the dead of summer, racing to find the nearest break in the trees to dip her toes in the creek. Just beautiful.

And when I looked down, I had a grubby toddler hand reaching for mine so he could swing his legs between his Daddy and me.

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Boys 3

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I think the little one is sending up a quick prayer asking to stay here forever. He’s found lots of rocks to stow away in his pockets, which is pretty much his Heaven on Earth. The other one is…um…I really don’t have the slightest idea what he’s doing.

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So take that, Mr. Twitter Tweeter. It’s pretty damn great being a mom. Name another time in my life that I wouldn’t be completely disgusted by muffled farts under the covers in the bed next to mine.

Because right now, it’s our sign off at the end of pretty great day in the Momdom.

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