Today was a real “don’t make me come up there” kind of day.

For starters, I forgot that the air conditioner repair guys were scheduled to arrive at 8am. And 8am comes real early when one has only slept in 3 hour shifts, the last one ending at 7am. So I opened the door to them wearing a shirt inside out and my 3am hair – if you know what I mean. My youngest boy was, how shall we say, only partially attired and there was a baby fast asleep on the living room floor.

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It was pretty much a downward spiral from there.

Repairmen traipsing in and out through the rain; three-year-old throwing a hissy fit because he couldn’t get the stapler to work the way he wanted,  couldn’t draw the kind of Dora map he envisioned; couldn’t have cake for lunch. Throw in a three-week-old who thinks I’m her own personal 24-7 Dairy Queen and nowhere to nurse her in private and you’ve got a mom hiding behind a bunk bed trying to steal a moment for her baby and away from her preschooler.

And on days like this, I feel such a profound wave of affection for my friend, Kristen Welch, one of the few moms I know who’s actually gone on record as admiting that her kid ate super glue. In her words,

“[W]hen someone has the nerve to ask me in a questioning tone, ‘What do you do all day?’ I’ve decided this will be my forever answer, ‘I’m a mom. What’s your superpower?’Don’t Make Me Come Up There! p.2.

Amen and preach it sister!

By 7pm I realized I still hadn’t showered or brushed my teeth, the kids had picked their way through three random dinner options (fish sticks, lunch meats and potatoes), and the baby still hadn’t napped longer than 45 minutes all day – and only then when she was actually napping on me.

I’ve always thought that with the title Mother we should grow an extra appendage or two. Because, seriously, an extra arm would come in handy when I’m stirring dinner, loading the dishwasher, calling out multiplication facts, stepping over the mock kitchen my toddler has created underfoot, and paying bills online–simultaneously. Don’t Make Me Come Up There! p.1.

In an attempt to steal some “me” time in between my three-year-old’s bout of meltdowns I checked my email only to discover a note from my five-year-old’s teacher informing me that my usually easy-go-lucky son had been written up today for two different acts of disobedience. To quote Charlie Brown, “Good Grief!”

And I feel it worth mentioning that part of today I spent trying to figure out how I was going to retrieve the library DVD I had so proudly dropped off on time yesterday to the wrong branch!

God, I’m so thankful that you specialize in messes. You are good at fixing broken things. I give myself to you, all the successes and all the failures. Please purify me and create a clean heart in me. Don’t Make Me Come Up There! p. 34.

As I write this I am hiding in the bedroom with the baby who has miraculously fallen asleep. I should be sneaking out to kiss my big boys goodnight. But I’m too afraid to jinx the whole sleeping baby thing. Also, I like the whole being alone thing. I’m exhausted and hungry and perhaps that’s why I feel my eyes welling up as I think of Kristen and her funny, loving, totally-gets-the-highs-and-lows-of-motherhood, wonderful book, Don’t Make Me Come Up There!

For all you fabulously real women who could relate to my post last week on how *not* to help a new mom (or any mom for that matter) this book was basically tailor made for you, for us! Because Kristen is the real deal and keeping it real is what makes her so very very likeable. Well, that and the amazing confessionals stories she shares in this book about her own “We are *that* family moments.” I like to think of her as my very own sigh of relief,

Bottom line: I don’t know what I’m doing most days. I buy parenting books, listen to radio programs, and ask advice all the time. I make mistakes daily. But I try to learn from them, do what works, and admit when I’m just plain wrong. The best thing I can offer is prayer. God created my children; he knows what works and what doesn’t. He gives wisdom to those who lack it (raising my hand). Don’t Make Me Come Up There! p. 114.

This book is the cup of tea, slice of chocolate cake and older, wiser friend sitting across from you telling you that everything’s gonna be alright that every mother needs.

And today I get to give one away to one of you.

Just leave a comment sharing your most recent “Don’t Make Me Come Up There” moment and you’ll be entered to win. I’ll choose a random commenter on Monday next week.

And for an extra entry you can “like” The Gypsy Mama on Facebook and leave me a comment letting me know you did.

In the meantime, here’s to you and your mom genes – wear ’em with pride!

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