dear humility: enough already.

Sometimes being a mother is a gig that is just so . . . .

humbling.

I mean,

how many lessons in humility does one person need anyway?

And can I tell you what?

I think I’ve had enough already.

Yeah.

Enough already.

Yesterday I stood in a waiting area with other moms and other kids to wait to register for that co-op I was worrying about the other day.

(And guess what?  We’re in!  Three years on a waiting list!  Hazah!)

There were other children besides mine waiting as well.

They were waiting patiently, with happy hearts shining through their sweet cherubic faces.

And I promise,

that has been my group of kiddos too.

I promise it has.

(If only I had proof.  If only.)

No, really.

There have been moments that my kids were those kids.

You know,

those kids.

The ones that are smiling and obedient and quiet and helpful at all the right moments.

The kind of kids that would cause strangers to stop you in the grocery store and compliment your beautiful progeny.

The kind of obedient youngsters that cause a waiter to stop and reflect upon how swell your young ones are and to share a few horror stories of those kids who were not.

I promise, on occasion, I have had those kids too.

But not yesterday.

I did not have those children yesterday.

I had the other kind.

The kind of urchins that make the other moms look at their own well-behaved offspring and smile.

Smile in pity at you and your sad self.

Smile in pride at their own small heavenly beings fluttering angelically around them while balancing their halos on their golden heads.

Okay, they probably aren’t smiling like that.

But it feels like it.

My kids were behaving in the manner that makes other people just feel straight up sorry for you.

The kind of way that causes them to assume you are pretty much on the teetering verge of insanity and your life must really be a mess.

Actually, to be fair, not every one of my kids was acting that way.

But to be sure, some of them were.

And at excessively loud volumes.

And with a bit of kicking thrown in and maybe even some head tosses and pushes.

Yeah.

It was lovely.

And it made me feel oh-so-proud.

No.

It made me avert my eyes and wish public spanking was alright.

It made me wish for large holes in the floor and to pray to the gods of peace and quiet that some would waft my way.

It made me doubt my job as a stay-at-home mother and question my desire to homeschool these hoodlums.

But mostly,

it made me just want to go home.

I had plans to head to Whole Foods following the registration excursion.

To stock up on $3 gallons of organic milk and low-priced beef.

I had even packed a picnic lunch in my foolish exuberant hopefulness.

But as I corralled my rowdy wranglers into our blazing hot wagon,

I didn’t even have the energy to turn the steering wheel in any direction other than home.

The kids ate their picnic in the car.

And I drove home.

Full of humbleness.

Full and overflowing.