Amanda Amanda is a married 30-something with three kids. She previously worked full-time as a clinical social worker in a homeless shelter for young mothers. She earned her masters degree while commuting to school and learned to share parenting and conflicting parenting styles with her husband. Now she is learning to manage her career, marriage, kids, and personal time. Amanda is also a writer, a continuously-trying-to-start-again runner, reader, cook, novice pianist, terrible housekeeper, and amateur juggler. She hates laundry. Contact Amanda by emailing

I have Barbie Bikinis hanging up to dry in my bathroom

I have baby socks and Hot Wheels in my purse

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I have Cheerios ground into my carpet

I have tiny fingerprints and crayon art on all surfaces 4 feet and lower in my home

I can smell a dirty diaper from across the house

I can sing six different lullabies by heart plus one I made up

I can cook a roast chicken, work in the garden, make up 4 dozen chocolate covered pretzels, and do 5 loads of laundry-and consider that a SLOW and EASY day

I find myself gently rocking back and forth whenever I stand in one place too long

I know if it’s serious by the tone and pitch of the screaming

I know what I felt the minute they were born and the fear I felt when I realized they were really going to leave me alone with them (wait, I’m not going home with a team of nurses and pediatricians seconds away-are you INSANE?)

I can carry a 30lb preschooler for 2 miles and know that’s the easier option

I can brave Meijer at 5pm with three children under the age of 5 because we’re out of milk, bread, and eggs (but, I wouldn’t recommend it-and will someone build a drive-through grocery store already?!)

I actually see the appeal of Barney

I have threatened to pull the car over

I have yelled “You’ll poke your eye out!”

I can make everyone in a 100 yard radius sit down when I yell “Sit. Down.”

I look forward to when they’re finally asleep

I look forward to their cheering, “Mama, it’s shiney out!” when the sun is up

They’re not stretch marks, they’re battle scars

Most of my shirts have some sort of stain due to a child

My good shirts only have one small stain

I randomly pull socks out of my pockets

I have dollar bills on hand in case the ice cream truck comes down the street

I can clean up an entire house in 1.5 hours (sort and seperate toys, wipe down surfaces, put laundry away) as long as I’m home alone

I can sniff out a lost lovey with the accuracy of a world-class hunting dog

My kisses make all the hurt go away (please, God, let it always be that way)

I have dirty windows because they were making funny faces at each other

I only clean the kitchen floor when they spill something (it happens often enough that it’s not that gross)

I am an expert at rinsing shampoo out without getting faces wet

I sometimes appear to have 10 arms, eyes in the back of my head, and psychic powers (don’t tell them it’s not true-it’s better for everyone if they believe I’m as mythic as William Wallace)

I wake up at the slightest whisper of a cry at 3am but can ignore them yelling “MOM MOM MOM MOM MOM” two feet from my ear

I love them with every fiber of my being and to the bottom of my soul and still want them to leave me alone

I am a mother



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Category: Moms

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