Why moming is the best

 I haven't traveled the world, and I haven't solved any of society's largest problems. I haven't published a widely-acclaimed masterpiece and I certainly haven't done anything you could consider particularly notable.
I have, however, parented, and doing that, being a mom? Is, in my honest opinion, a better and more important thing than all of the above.
I had goals for my life before I got married. I wanted to study abroad and I wanted a Master's degree. I wanted to find a career I felt passionate about and make a difference in the lives of those around me.
And though I never got to go abroad, and still haven't gone back to college, I did find a passion in taking care of my little ones and set a goal of making a difference for good in their lives.
My oldest is two, my youngest three months. And caring for them while balancing a full time career to make ends meet? Is probably the most challenging thing I have ever tried to do in my life.
I have moments where I feel like I'm succeeding brilliantly (this usually involves moments where I actually get dressed and get out of the house or do some kind of random craft, game or activity), and moments where I feel like I couldn't fail much worse (children crying, no work getting done, at my wit's end), but I'm learning every day that the most important thing is I keep trying.
Parenting is hard work. It's dirty work at times, and it's work where you seldom can truly evaluate how well you're doing. But I feel like real success comes when you stop trying to force everything to be perfect and go as you think it should, and mostly just embrace the chaos.
I had one of these moments last night, when we made the effort to actually get our toddler to bed on time. Jammies and brushing teeth were checked off the list and it was time for "story and song and off to bed" according to the Daniel Tiger way of life.
Yet the little one was running around the house with her water gun, chasing the cat and pretty much having a grand old time.
Finally rounding her up for stories, she complained about every story we picked, talked through most of them, and was this ridiculous ball of energy nowhere near letting exhaustion consume her.
Trying to press the issue, she literally went ballistic and to keep her from waking the baby with her anti-bedtime shrieking, my husband took her to our gigantic closet to help her cool down.
And for the first time, I laughed. Because it was so ridiculous, but to her it was everything to stay up late with us. I laughed because I had already cried and I didn't know what else to do.
She's sleeping now, no hint in her being of the crazy, possessed and hysterical two-year-old that surfaced last night. She's peaceful and beautiful. She's passionate.
Moments like last night's epic bedtime battle take me to my limits. They make me feel like a horrible mom and that if I was doing things right, we wouldn't have these problems. But they also remind me of how amazing being a parent really is.
I learn from my children. From their passion and focus. I learn to laugh and let go. I see all my flaws bubbling to the surface and am presented the opportunity to do something about them.
I cry and have my tears wiped away by my tiny girl, who frantically hugs me, trying to take the sadness away.
I get messy. I giggle. There's nothing better than a tear-stained toddler giggling because she tooted.

Being a mom is the most awesome thing ever. And it's not just because I have really cool kids, though that definitely contributes.
It gives me time to look outside myself. To focus on others. And it's created a whole new side of me. One that appreciates things like a well-timed toot. Or the brutal honesty of a tiny child. Or even poop. Poop is awesome, and the excitement our little girl radiates when she successfully lands one in the toilet? Best thing ever. I even don't particularly mind when my hands are covered in poop because the tiny one has launched yet another poop-splosion.
I love my little girl's face covered in frosting because I won mom of the year by letting her have three mini cupcakes. I love how my son smiles with his entire being just because I looked at him. I love the mounds of dirty diapers he creates because I'm glad he's here to create them.
I love my messy life. My imperfect perfection. I love my shift in perspective and my constant reminders that sometimes all it really takes for things to feel better is a well-placed Band-Aid.
We grown-ups, we overcomplicate things. But my two-year-old? She gets it. In the most utterly perfect messy-hair-don't-care, golden curls flying, passionate and enthusiastic way. Maybe someday I can grow up to be just like her.