The Chosen One

Oh, hey there. Nice to meet you. My name is Julie and I am The Chosen One. Which might sound appealing (or at least vaguely Biblical) if it were not for the arena in which I have been anointed. And friends, the arena is this:

All the Bad Stuff.

My official role as Boss of All the Bad Stuff crystalized for me this weekend as our two dogs witnessed both my husband and me changing into our running clothes. They spotted our attire and all that it signals. Then they made a choice. And their choice was Bill

Both Bella and Bailey swarmed him. Can we hang with you? Their tails wagged. Their mouths drooled. Then they glanced at me and my stretched-out running capris.

You’re slow they panted. And droopy. True enough.

But before you heap too much pity upon me, I’ll admit the dogs find me plenty fast when they must pee at two o’clock in the morning. Or vomit on the rug in our master bedroom. Why use tile or hardwood floors when carpet feels like grass? As I squat with paper towels and Resolve to wipe up their mess, they’re more than happy to choose me as the object of their licking.

On my face. With their tongues. After vomiting.

We love you, droopy lady. And also eating garbage!

Of course my vomit-duty isn’t limited to pets. At bedtime Bill brings water to Jack and Karly who gush, “Daddy. We love you sososo much.” But in the wee hours of the night? They groan, “Mom. We threw up sososo much.”

Exhausted by water-duty, Bill sleeps through the flushing. And the sponging. And the administration of antiemetic medicine. (Pharmacists call it “emesis” but when you’re on your knees, it’s “puke.”)

And yet. Despite my well-documented vomit-handling skills, our son chose to honor Bill for his fifth grade “Hero Project” at Back to School Night. Yeah. A boy and his father. Beyond sweetness. And nausea. Still. I took comfort in the serendipitous topic of his younger sister’s classroom journal on display that same night:  “My hero is______.”

Surely she would pick ME!

Then we read her entry.

“My hero is Linkin Park. I play guitar. My favorite song is Bleat it out.”

Suddenly other parents knew I listen to profanity-laced music in front of my kid. And also that my kid can’t spell “Bleed.” Other mothers approached me, baaahing as if I were Little Bo Peep.

“I pay for her guitar lessons,” I mumbled.  “And sheep are cool.”

At the end of that year, Jack wrote a speech for his culmination ceremony in which he extolled the virtues of someone who demonstrates EFFORT. His choice?  Bill. Again. And even then, I did not mind. I was confident I’d enjoy my moment of glory that September when Karly completed her fifth grade “Hero Project.”

She selected her eight-year-old cousin.

“Really?” I tried not to sound peeved. Does McKenzie sprinkle the perfect amount of parmesan cheese on your penne? Was she a chaperone at the J. Paul Getty museum field trip? Will she spoon antiemetic medicine down your throat when you’re emesising? (Or whatever.)

“Mom!” Karly sounded full-blown peeved. “There’s NO ONE ELSE to write about!”

I reasoned with her. “I don’t think the assignment is to praise children – unless they’ve overcome great odds or are an inspiration to society.”

“Mckenzie lip-syncs Taylor Swift.”

I took a breath. “That’s truly dazzling,” I said. “But I don’t think lip-syncing counts outside the Grammys.” Then I thought, Please choose me. Although, clearly, I’m pathetic.

Karly sighed. “I would pick you,” (now we’re getting somewhere), “Except I don’t want to be a teacher.”

So I stooped low. “I see,” I said. “You want to be an eight-year-old.” Eventually, Karly decided her hero would be her fourth grade teacher. (Teacher?) The one who displayed Karly’s Linkin Park journal prompt.

Because sarcasm skills are as under-appreciated as lip-syncing.

It’s taken thirteen years, but I’ve finally accepted that my kids choose other people to share their celebrations. Daddy’s better for bike rides and hikes. Friends are good for playing games. Cousins? They make excellent lip-sync partners.

Then there’s Mom…

…whom they choose when they’re hungry. Or tired and scared. They look to Mom in times of frustration. When they’re humiliated or alone. They want Mom if they can’t sleep or their feelings are hurt. And after knee-scrapes or head-bumps. They call for Mom as their joys exit and tears flood in their stead.

Again and again, I am chosen for All the Bad Stuff. Whether it’s vomit or emesis. I am Mother, not Hero.

And yet. I have a secret. A sober truth no journal prompt can touch.

My children’s love knows few boundaries; they adore many people and places and things. Unabashedly.

But when they need? I am chosen.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.


My babies, longer ago than I care to calculate. Dang, I hate math.

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Last Modified on January 26, 2018
This entry was posted in Featured, Life
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100 thoughts on “The Chosen One

  1. I was reading this and all along thinking “they may want, but it certainly seems that they come to you when they need.” Beautiful post – I often feel horrible when I walk in the door from work. Both of my kids develop these great big smiles and immediately try to get me to pick them up. It doesn’t matter if they were playing, or cuddling with mommy, or eating – it’s “daddy daddy daddy” and that’s all they want.

    Of course, when I’m the primary caregiver for extended periods, they get quickly bored with me, but I do feel some guilt knowing that my wife has been with the kids all day, and all I need to do to gather their love & attention is walk through the door.

  2. Katie

    This post brought me such comfort. I’m not the only one with little ingrates running around throwing up on stuff! Thank you Julie!

  3. John –

    I thought of you (and other dads who have visited my blog) when I wrote this. I’m so glad you understood my point and didn’t see this post as my undermining the role of father/partner.

    I absolutely couldn’t function without Bill. Dads rule.

    And your kids? Fabulously lucky.

  4. Katie –

    And you’re bringing those kids back from Ireland to my home town?
    Yay! Now we can play….

  5. HMPH! I bet you are a MAD lip syncer!
    Now that I’ve got the niceties out of the way, WHY did the Under Armour link not take me to a picture of you in Spandex? AHEM. Spandex is ALL the rage, you know!

    And yes, I’m the needed one too. And through it all, it ain’t a bad gig. (though I was certain the small print on the want ad said it came with a Cabana boy.)

  6. LMAO. Very funny post. I know, I know, sweet and touching, great ending, etc. But funny!! Very funny. And seemed to be written about my life 🙂

  7. Di

    Oh to be needed and you’re right, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Once again, you nailed it! How’s KK’s oozing poison oak, which you didn’t mention!

  8. Thank you for putting this out there! It is so true, and it helped me reconcile my issues with it.

    I’ve actually got the strongest role in the house, without Mom no one can overcome whatever hardship they are facing. And I like to be there for them.

    So, dad can have all the giggling fun. They’ll need mom when their hearts hurt and being able to solve that is so important to me.

  9. liz

    I try to fly the dog to hardwood or tile, too! And I know all about emesis…I puked daily for 9 months during my pregnancies!

  10. Madwoman –

    Someday soon (or at the very least once you’re done gestating) we need to get together so you can share your techno skills with me.

    And so we can take pictures of each other in spandex.

    Then you’ll show me how to post those pics, right?

    A little spandex, a little run, a little celebratory cocktail – with John, perhaps? We will redefine fun.

    And photograph it.

  11. Thanks, Pamela –

    I have a hard time writing a completely serious/sentimental piece. Almost always have to sneak in a little snark.

    Usually? It’s the other way around. I’m aiming for funny and something sweet slips its way in.

    All about the balance, right?

  12. Di –

    Karly looks like crap hit by a bus that backed up and hit her again.
    So ugly.

    Poor baby. And itchy. Oh the itch.

    But keeping it all in perspective? She’ll be fine.

    Poison oak isn’t the end of the world. Just really hard on 11-year-old skin.

    Still. She needs me. Hooray!

  13. I can totally relate with you. It seems like when everyone needs something that is hard to find or get, they choose me, but when its all the goody stuff, they mysteriously find my husband. I guess I better settle for being needed for something. I guess 🙁

  14. wonderful post! And I think every mom has to come to this realization, that she isn’t the “hero” she is the heart. And who can’t live with that?

  15. Amanda –

    Just read your post. So sorry to admit that all your crap (no pun intended) made me laugh because you are still. so. funny.

    Thinking happy music for you. Right now.

    Hang in, girl.

  16. Liz-

    Seriously. I don’t even TRY to get the dogs all the way outside. Just to someplace that isn’t carpeted?

    Please? For the love of Stainmaster?

    Nope. Never. Our upstairs is a mosaic of upchuck.

    Hope you weren’t eating.

  17. KLZ

    This is the perfect description of motherhood. I STILL want my mommy when I’m sick.

  18. Allyson

    Can you re-run this for mother’s day!

  19. Blessing –

    I get the “I guess.” I really do. But there’s goody stuff in being needed, too.

    Sometimes. (ha!)

  20. Karen-

    I KNEW Enrique Iglesias was singing about us. I just knew it!

    We are the heroess. Or was that Mariah Carey?

    Whatever. We’re the HEROES!

  21. KLZ-

    When I went away to college I got the stomach flu. Bad. My boyfriend took care of me. My friends took care of me. I thought I was doing fine.

    Until I called my mom.

    couldn’t. stop. crying.

    I hope my kids feel the same way when they’re away at school.

    Only not sick.

  22. dale

    and just think you have all those teen years still ahead … when they begin to think parents don’t know that much to get though…

  23. As moms we are the chosen ones for all the stuff the kids need. And Linkin Park as a hero is hilarious.

  24. Allyson –

    Great idea! Will definitely repost for Mother’s Day…and you are one of my favorite mamas for sure.

  25. Dale –

    I know. The teen years scare me. Can you hear the tremble in my typing?

    I’ll be the one crouched in the corner.

    With the dogs.

  26. Jessica –

    It was seriously funny. Linkin Park? For real?

    I love my girl.

    She’s one of a kind. And a terrible guitarist.

  27. Jill

    Perhaps you’ve noticed my “In my next life I’m coming back as the Dad” license plate frame around town? Not intended as male-bashing at all, but I too am so often amazed at the differences in our roles.

    I do have to say for the record, Jared chose me as his everyday hero in 5th grade. I can’t say I would have chosen the same reasons as he did, but I was touched nonetheless. And the picture that went along with the text made me look fat 🙂

    Great post Julie!

  28. Jill –

    Isn’t that the way of it? You finally get selected for an award and HATE the picture that accompanies it?

    Thanks for the blog support and the smile.

    p.s. I don’t see that license plate frame as dad-bashing. SOMETHING has to hold the license to the back of your car… ha!

  29. Jen

    I loved this! I am totally the red-headed step-child of the parents in this house, but useful for fetching things or when someone is bored.

  30. Jen –

    But clearly, your children have inherited your musical abilities. Loved the Hustle.


  31. Being a mom seems like a thankless job sometimes, for sure, but if you weren’t the one they were calling when they get sick or scared or hurt….yes, I guess that would stink. You hit the nail on the head:-)

  32. Sue/Chicken –

    You are so right. I do want them calling me.

    Even though sometimes? I just want to put the pillow over my head and sleep.

    All day 😉

  33. And now, apparently we share the same dog. Because yes, carpet is much better on its tender feet than any sort of wood or tile.

    I think you nailed it..I love and treasure those chosen moments. They make the vomitus and not being a hero go away.

  34. Gigi-

    Exactly that. Exactly.

  35. Ah, being the Chosen One. Delightful, isn’t it?

    Worked out pretty well for Harry Potter in the end, though. Maybe there’s hope?

  36. Allison

    4th grade teachers are often underapreciated, and more often than not, less than the 2nd choice as hero. We all know, however, that I may have been her hero then, but she will idolize you always (even when you are in streched out underarmor)It may help if you learn to lip sync.

    Reading your posts gives me a moment of light in my new job, where nobody is referencing me a hero (although some of the children have different names for me. . .)

  37. Oh my gosh! This is so true and SO freaking hilarious!
    A mommy’s job is thankless but oh so necessary. Rock on! Bleat it out! Go Mommies!

  38. Ah, Sunonymous one –

    So true, although I haven’t seen the last two Potter movies. I suppose things could go awry for young Harry, yet.

    Hopefully, though? It won’t be in the vein of vomit.

    Fingers crossed.

  39. Linkin Park – hysterical! Mothers – the unsung heroes. But you should cut Bill a little slack. Water duty IS so, so draining. Poor guy.

    Loved this.

  40. Ostriches (look funny, for sure!)

    Glad you saw the beauty in “Bleat it out” – or the funny in it. Either way.

    My daughter is an endless source of sighs (both proud and embarrassed).

    Definitely a slice of parenthood, right there…

  41. Chalupa –

    Linkin Park is so very hero-worthy. And Bill? Rocks at water-carrying.

    Plus, he lets me tease him on my blog. In public. So he definitely deserves his “Effort” award.

    And the “Hero Project.”

    And me.

  42. Deb

    Oh, what a lovely post that shows we moms may never be the heroes and it’s okay. You know that I found my diary from high school and boy was my mom the Boss of Bad (actually, I believe it was another B word that I used). And guess who is my very best friend now.

  43. It’s such a thankless job sometimes, and then we also know it’s not a job at all, but a gift. What greater reward could we have than to be needed? To have a child turn to you to wipe their tears? There’s a lot of trust in that. And there’s just so much joy in trust.

    I love this post in so many ways. It speaks to the heart of every parent.

  44. Deb –

    You and your mom are so lucky to have each other. Two incredibly strong, brave, beautiful women (I didn’t use either of the other B words you may have been referring to).

    Hugs to you both and a hope that our girls feel the same way about us when they grow up.

    Oh, yeah. And now, too!

  45. Carol –

    Thanks so much. I hope you know how much respect I have for your writing (not to mention your reviews) so your kind words mean a lot to me.

    And yes. There is so much joy in trust. Sometimes, in tears, too.

  46. Allison –

    Missed your comment before – just saw it now! HUGE smile on my face to see that you read this post. Especially since you are a key figure (alongside Linkin Park, of course).

    You were a hero in our house for three straight years and continue to be an inspiration to both Jack and Karly (not to mention you were an awesome teacher to volunteer for).

    Hang in there at the high school. Perhaps, like mothers, assistant principals/deans are appreciated later in life. Or maybe not.

    But still. There’s always wine, so yay!

  47. I read this over an hour ago and I’m still laughing at “And sheep are cool”. This is quite touching and I’ve no doubt so very true (thus sayeth the childless authority). You are the foundation of the home, meanwhile he gets to be the funky green and purple wall paper, metaphorically speaking.

    I marvel at the rhythm of your written humor Julie. It’s always a joy to read. Also, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but it’s a well known fact that the Yanamamo tribe prizes lip synching skills above even their most adept buffalo hunters. Let me suggest a sale of said cousin the next time you are in need of extra cash.

    Thanks for another great post. 🙂

  48. Heidi –

    A. Sheep ARE cool.
    B. Bill loves to drape himself in purple and green wallpaper but we don’t tell people so shhhh.
    C. Lip-syncing is far more valuable than buffalo-hunting, but less valuable than sarcasm.
    D. Anyone who can write a short story where the villain is a push-up bra is a favorite in my book.

    Thank you, friend. So very much.

  49. kim

    Oh no! Pooor karly 🙁 love this post of course.

  50. Thanks, Kimmy-kim.

    Love you. Of course.

  51. I loved this!

    I get all the yuck duties at our house, too but secretly I like that the kids know I’ll always be there for them when they need something.

    I think it takes a little age and perspective to realize that the real heroes are the ones who do the hard and mundane work day after day. They’re the people we depend on for so many things yet don’t always (never?) thank because it was just something they did without fanfare.

  52. I was introduced to the word emesis for the first time early today. I read it in a medical report and had to ask what it meant. Clearly you are much more scholarly than I on the subject. I thought vomit was the fancy word.

    I’ve always wondered why the dog does it on the rug rather than the easy to clean floor just millimeters away. Someone should research that.

  53. Julie – Another stellar post. Not having kidlets myself I can’t say I have a shared experience but your post made me smile and thank heaven for my mom (again!).

    (And Linkin Park is awesome and I love your new family pic.)

  54. Ms. Wasteland ~

    Every once in a while, the fanfare would be nice.

    But in exchange, I’ll take the day-to-day little things that say, “I’m the mom.”

    (Besides of course the circles under the eyes, the bladder incontinence, the crazy eyes.)

    Yep. We are the real heroes.

  55. Joey –

    I’d like to claim my knowledge of emesis was “scholarly.”

    But it’s more like “experienced.

    Why do dogs like carpet?

    That’s me. All scholarly and inspiring the big questions…

  56. Kari Marie –

    I’ve been dying to talk to you about your finished WIP!

    You have a baby now, too. One that won’t throw up on you, too.

    Congratulations, sweet friend. Congratulations.

  57. You kind of lost me at “changing into running clothes.” You run? I’m envious. I despise running, unless I have a basketball in my hand. Then it becomes fun. When I run without a ball, I do math incessantly. If I run X more minutes at Y pace, how long till I throw up?

    You run. Amazing.

  58. Roots and wings, baby.

    And occasionally – on the odd day – we are the branch upon which they like to perch. Nobody ever thanks the trees enough. 😉

  59. I’m about to exhaust my husband with water duty really soon. I may even make him walk back down to put ice in it.

    Sheep are cool. Ha!

    Great post.

  60. This pretty much sums it up (and my guy is only 2). So it doesn’t get better, huh? I’m near tears but I’m only half blaming you for my emo state; I’m blaming my juice glass emptied of wine for the other half! You are a wonder-mama, obviously. And way cooler than an 8 year old OR a sheep! Big hug going your way. xo

  61. ps. that “obviously” was sincere! I just reread it and it sounded like sarcasm but it wasn’t at ALL! I adore reading your mama stories and you sound like a true wonder-mama!

  62. This post is so true. My son is only 16 months old and I can already see it. He goons all over my husband and says “dada” all day long. The only time I ever hear mama is if he wakes up in the middle of the night or hurt himself. I am so glad to have found you!! Your blog is great!

  63. nannyk

    I am with Joey. Until today, “vomit” was the fancy term. Living in a house full of men and men in training, I hear puke, yak, hurl, etc. “Vomit” is what we use when company is over.

    @Ironic Mom, perhaps julie runs with the following question on her mind….If I run X more minutes at Y pace, how long till I experience emesis?

    Jules….According to, there’s actually such a thing as “hyper emesis”. I will go on record and say that if B & B bridge the gap over to “hyper emesis”…they need not ask to visit Huntington Beach again. Then again, they are YOUR dogs, and therefore come by said hyper emesis naturally (need I remind you of your graduation party???)

    Love the new blog pic. Who knew you had clothes?? 🙂

  64. nannyk

    Oh…and poor kk!! She can’t catch a break from that crappy poison oak. Reason #326 that you should move to HB. It’s never too late!

  65. Courtney

    I LOVE your perspective! I also love being chosen. I think one of my saddest moments of motherhood came this year when I could not help with with Algebra. I was chosen. And totally helpless. And useless. So I called over the Hero. Who puzzled for a good 5 minutes to get to an answer. The Boy no longer asks me THOSE questions.

    As to you. Well. You’re my hero. Love the fact you’re following your dreams. Bleat on Girl!

  66. So true–they choose us in the bad times!!! Love the Mckenzie story. So funny. By the way, I really like the new picture up top!

  67. cousin Heidi

    I LOVE your description…you and Bill will always be number one to Jack and Karly, no matter what (and I would argue that not even Super-Hero McKenzie will hold rank for very long). For that, you are some of the luckiest people alive. Those two kids of yours are made out of the special kind of cloth.

    Appreciate that. You are blessed beyond anything you could measure…for me, I will likely never get to experience the late-night vomiting, hero-worship, moments of “Mommy, I NEED you…”. I must settle for the excitement of the nieces and nephews when “Aunt Heidi” comes over, and my canine buddies who enjoy licking my face, hands, exposed legs. They love the hikes and trail rides, car rides and trips to the dog park. I’m number one to them…And I DO get to clean up the poopy, the vomit, and feed them in the morning, bathe them in the evening, snuggle them before we all settle in for the night. It’s not the same and never will be as the non-furry variety, and I’m ok with that. So, consider yourself extremely lucky. It sounds like you already do. 🙂

  68. Diane

    I adopted a name a while back: The Human Napkin. The Human Napkin does all the things you bemoaned. It is the repository for all unspeakable things. It gets dirty and crumpled up and thrown out.

    But – it dries tears and stops bleeding and even doubles as a huge, incredibly warm blanket when it needs to.

    Not bad for a napkin.

    Loved the post.

  69. Diane –

    Love seeing you here. Love the term “The Human Napkin.” May have to steal it.

    Of course, you know you are so much more. But with the dirt and the tears and the blood and the warmth?

    You are so right. Not bad at all…

  70. Nina –

    Thanks, lady! Our family don’t pose for pictures often. Especially with the dogs.

    See the snowman in the back?

    Christmas ’09.


  71. Ironic Mom: I know. I run. But don’t be impressed. When I’m not running, I’m sitting. for reals.

    Renee: Heading out to thank our oak trees in the back right now. Even though they block our view. And can’t be trimmed by law.

    Erin: Hope your husband survived water duty. This morning, mine said, “Glad the dogs didn’t get you up last night!” Either 4:45 AM doesn’t count as “night” to him or he slept through it.

    Otto’s Mom: I am an excellent judge of sarcasm. You? Were sincere. I just know these things.

    Angie: Love your blog, too. And 30 Rock. And your blog.

    Nanny K: Sad to say, “hyper emesis” and I are intimately acquainted. Evidenced by many people’s carpet stains. Including yours.

    Courtney: At least you made it to Algebra. I got stuck in 4th grade math. But I make up for it by playing Linkin Park really loudly.

    Heidi: I know I’m lucky. And that special cloth? Comprises you too, sweet cousin. You, too.

  72. From botox and Spandex to needing Mom like no other. So in love with this post.

    My six-year-old literally screams while scaling walls like Nightcrawler when my husband comes home from work. Me? I get a, “sup, Mom.” At least my nine-month-old needs me most of all and Daddy just isn’t physically built to satisfy her. BOO-YAH, Nature! I know it won’t last, but I’m holding out for that my-mom-is-my-best-friend stage in life.

  73. Mama Buttram –

    You made my day. Booh-yah, Nature? LOVE it! I nursed both my kids for a full year so I could win. For at least 12 months.

    Oh. And also because it’s good for them and their immune systems blah blah blah.

    But for a year? They wanted me most. Hero!

  74. David is definitely Hero #1 around here. Altho they also go to him for comfort. Because he’s totally the emesis guy. Also, he says “yes” to anything they want.

    If they want a knuckle sandwich, they come to me.

    Except for the baby. He’s all mine. And there are no limits to what I will do to make sure I remain in the pole position with that child.

  75. Cheryl –

    I KNEW I should have had a third kid. JUST for that reason.

    Hindsight. You know what they say about her…

  76. There is nothing that brings me to full alert from a dead sleep then a dog getting ready to hurl.

    Console yourself that you will be the verbal chosen before you know it, Sheldon told me last week I was her closest friend even though I make her have a curfew at 21 years old.

  77. Oh, Mrs. Tuna –

    You offer not only fabulous recipes, but a fabulous glimpse into the future of my relationship with my daughter.

    I do so hope to have that. And I believe we are on our way there…

    (even though I still occasionally trip over the dog.)

  78. So there I was, giggling along with your post – “hee hee, that Julie is so funny” – and then BLAMO: you kill me with your last four lines. Fantastic post…must go dry my eyes before yelling at my kids to get dressed…

  79. Lori –

    I cry when we lose an hour for Daylight Savings, too. (and occasionally when my kids are running around naked.)

    We apparently have that in common… 😉

  80. My kids always call on me when they can’t find a thing.

    I tell them there’s nothing magic about me,,,but I can’t convince them.

    It’s me they need.

  81. Alexandra –

    My favorite part about “finding things” for my kids?

    They never believe I know what I’m talking about.

    Jack asks,”Where is my shoe/sock/funnel for the explosive experiment I want to concoct in the garage?”

    And when I say, “In the closet to the left of your model of the Seattle Space Needle,” my son says “Nu-uh. I looked there.”

    So I follow him upstairs and there’s his funnel. In the closet. On the right side of his model of the Seattle Space Needle.


  82. Well, I am WAY late to this comment stream but I love this! I would take being the chosen vomit cleaner and laundry cleaner over never having known what it feels like to care for my family.

    It’s a win-win. Even on the days it doesn’t feel that way.

  83. Sherri –

    You aren’t late. I just leave my posts up forever. So happy to see you here, one of my blog crushes, for sure.

    Love your writing, love reading about your experiences parenting your teenagers.

    I am right there behind you. A breath away.

    (Buried under laundry, but smiling.)

  84. Thank you for reminding me that being ‘needed’ is important, too. I often forget that when Daddy gets so much more attention than I do. (Though with my new full-time job, things are changing a bit in that department.)

  85. Ah, Lois.

    Don’t worry. Being needed will never change. Jobs will ebb and flow. But you will always be Mommy.

    Good luck to you in your new situation. And be patient with yourself.

  86. I have to confess that I chose my mom for all of the “bad stuff” too while others seemed to receive my songs of praise. But in the bad she was beautiful and received the song of my heart. She loved me unconditionally and I knew it…I felt it and I didn’t need to gain her approval. However, I’m sure she would’ve appreciated a break from projectile vomiting duty!

    Great post Julie.

  87. Botut –

    I love that your comment is so sweet; poetic, really.

    And then there’s projectile vomit.

    I dig that. My kind of reply.

    (“She…received the song of my heart.” I will remember that one. Beautiful.)

  88. This post is so funny and so endearing. It’s also very true. Makes me feel bad for choosing John Lennon as my hero in my fifth grade project. I need to go hug my mom now, lol.

  89. BEAUTIFUL and HILARIOUS! Perfect combo!!! You’re my hero, does that count?
    My favorite-spit-out-my-coffee line: “We love you, droopy lady.” Sing it, sista! That’s how it is in this house too!

  90. Laura –

    DO IT! Moms need random hugs. Always.

    But John Lennon? Pretty awesome hero, in my book.

    Cheers to that.

  91. Tonya –

    I don’t spend a lot of $$$ on exercise clothes. Just to sweat?

    Same with pajamas. I’m asleep so why not wear old boxers and t-shirts?

    Hence, droopy. But my dogs love me anyway (and eating garbage).

    They just don’t want to run with me…

  92. This post is perfection – hilarious and sad and insightful.

    And sheep totally are cool.

  93. This cracked me up. No exceptions. No questions asked. Because in my house, Dad is the one chosen when they want someone to play video games with. Mom is the one who gets notified when the cat barfs. Dad gets the honor of being the “cool parent” at the bus stop. Mom is the one who drags them kicking and screaming out of bed, stuffs them into (semi) clean clothes and shovels breakfast down their throats while a little girl cries that I’m pulling her hair. Dad is popcorn and peanut butter and Saturday morning playtime, Mom is ‘eat your veggies’ and ‘if you eat a whole box of cookies, you’re going to throw up’ and ‘for the love of pete, go outside before you break the couch’.

    Dad is for “want”, Mom is for “need”. And while there are days where that’s just drudgery, there are also days when it feels pretty darn good.

    Then there are the days the toilet’s broken, the pipes are frozen and the wash room is flooded and someone’s crying because the cat decided to have seafood for breakfast-straight out of the aquarium. But we don’t talk about those.

  94. Megan –

    Thanks, my jewel-thief friend. I am so glad I was able to find your link again.

    I liked being able to LIKE you on Facebook, but then you disappeared from me.

    Hooray for rediscovering your blog.

    And sheep.

  95. I am behind on work and life. Today I had to make a choice between catching up on work or reading your post – I chose you!

    I appreciate the pain when our kids pick someone else and the love required for being the one they need.

    I think my kids pick their dad for both, but I am sure, well, mostly sure, they pick me for something… dancing! Yes, they would rather have a dance party with me than their dad! Hooray!

  96. This had me tearing up at the end. Motherhood is one of the most thankless, yet rewarding experiences of my life. I know every mother can relate to this post. Thanks!

  97. My baby is only 15 months old so I am still new to the mothering gig but already I see this. From dad, she expects fun. From me, hugs.

  98. Renee –

    Somehow missed your comment earlier (they don’t always post in order!) but you have me smiling and nodding and grateful our fish died (RIP Treasure and Flounder). We don’t have a cat. Husband claims to be allergic. And also that cat’s aren’t “Fun”. I guess he’d know!

  99. Paige – Awwww…LOVE that you picked me over work. But if you give up wine AND sweets for Lent, you have to have some guilty pleasure, right?

    Morgan – You are so welcome and I’m glad you felt validated in motherhood. (You probably have all the great jobs with the chickens at the Hen House, too, right? Both real and figurative?) Hugs to you.

    Illana – I remember when my son was 15 months old. I was newly pregnant with my daughter (we wanted our children exactly two years apart). I was so hormonal, I’d get in the car and drive around crying when Jack wanted his Daddy to read him bedtime books instead of me. He’s 13 now and I’m still writing posts like these.

    What is it with kids and heartstrings, anyway?

  100. You’re my hero, Julie! (It’s true.) 🙂

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