And where's that Award again?

There are days when it all goes wrong. When you get out of bed to the sound of three children crying at you. This one wants the treat she ate yesterday and won't understand that you can't produce another. That one woke up on the wrong side of the crib, has no desire to be reasonable, leaving you to wonder if 1/2 hour after waking up is too soon for a nap. And the littlest one is just cranky and crying and you don't know how to fix it. As you stand there, still in your nightdress, coffee in hand, hair not even combed yet, in the midst of the chaos, surrounded by children crying inconsolably, who seem to be convinced that you are setting out to ruin their day on purpose, with no idea how to turn this day around, and you begin to wonder when the mother of year award committee will be showing up at your door.

It is a day when you feel like you can do nothing right and as the day progresses it goes from bad to worse. The oldest has decided that she is starving right to death, but she now hates every item of food in your pantry and that is all your fault. The Middle one refuses to nap and has taken to throwing herself on the floor and displaying the loveliest version of a temper tantrum that would give any two year old a run for their money, and the baby is out of sorts, spitting out her food, refusing to be out of your arms. And you stand there, in your formula stained shirt, with a crying baby in your arms and a hysterical toddler hugging your leg, listening to your oldest stomp her way up the stairs to her room and you turn your red-rimmed eyes to check the driveway to see if that was the mailman bringing that mother of the year award.

Near the end of the day, your oldest brings you the "I'm Sorry and I love you" card she had worked so hard to create, the middle one runs by for an enthusiastic drive-by hugging that nearly knocks you off your feet, and your baby smiles sweetly into your eyes. And as the day comes to an end, you tuck exhausted children into their beds, hug them all softly, kiss their little foreheads, tell them you love them, and stand there and listen to them softly breathing in their sleep. You sit in the living room, listen to the quiet of the house, watch the music video "You Can Let Go Now" and sob uncontrollably, because in your exhausted, mommy worn state, you are completely aware that you will probably never be ready to let either one of these precious babies go. And you would rather have a lifetime of these "mother of the year" days, than one perfect day without either one of them.