I think I'm finally learning.

Normal for moms is not normal.

Let me rephrase that.

If I had a spreadsheet of all my days as a mom--somebody do the math of how many days there are in 23 years of mothering or else I can ask my husband later--I think I would find that I had very few normal days. Very few days that looked alike. Very few days that were repeats.

So why is it I spend so much of my time wishing for them?

It's a waste of my time. It causes frustration. Major frustration.

Sure, I can plan ahead. Sure, I can try to establish routines and habits.

But if I am the mom of toddlers or tweens or teens or twentysomethings--then I should know that my life is going to be interrupted by them.

Today my To Do list was up-ended by my six-year-old's totally unplanned ear infection and, consequently, her irritableness.

Then my eighteen-year-old stood in front of me while I was on the phone having a nice chat with a friend--and I noticed she looked kind of teary-eyed. So, time to say, "Can I call you back?" to my friend, and spend some time with my daughter, listening to her, giving her some TLC, and praying for her.

I'm a mom. It's what I do.

Who cares about normal?!