dear mom

call me tomorrow and tell me that it's ok that i put some of my children to bed for 2 nights so far with no sheets, only a mattress pad and pillowcases. tell me it's ok that my boys' hair is so long they look vaguely related to llamas. tell me that when i was a child you sometimes wished you could freeze time in order to have just a moment of peace and quiet. let me know that it's ok that i become shrewish and maybe mulish when my boys kick balls in the house. tell me that just once you literally pulled your hair in order to restrain your violent feelings. tell me that i'm not ruining these precious spirits and dragging them down with my smallmindedness. tell me that i shouldn't measure my success by a clean floor and dusted piano. tell me that i am doing better than i feel i am. these things i know, and yet it's so hard to believe. tell me to be grateful for this chaos that i'm in, cause i know it won't last as long as i think it will.