I’m skipping writing my own post with you this week to share what another Mom wrote. Her words are amazing. Thank you Stefanie Hoffman McManus

So it’s November and November is a big month. I mean we have all the shaving that’s not happening. Yay for beards. It’s also nanowrimo and I’m so incredibly excited about all the stories that will be created this month. Then there’s Thanksgiving of course, and so I see a lot of the 30 days of thankfulness challenges happening and that’s awesome, because I think we could all stand to be a little more thankful for what we have, and this will lead us right into Christmas which is my favorite! Honestly, there’s so much that I’m thankful for, but there’s one thing, or one person in my life in particular that I’m the most thankful for, and even though he doesn’t have Facebook, I wrote this letter to him. I’m sharing it on here, obviously not because I want him to read it, because honestly I don’t think he needs to. All of these things are things I hope he knows, but I’m sharing it to express what’s on my heart.

Dear Beautiful boy with the crooked smile and dirty hands, (because every time I turn around you are in to something else)
Though I’m not the woman who brought you into this world, every day I thank God for her because she gave me you and in this life I get to call you my son. There’s nothing in this world that has meant as much to me as you. You frustrate me to no end with your little boy messes and make me lose my temper with your stubborn attitude and inability to keep your curious hands from creating mischief. You wear my patience thin when you test how many times I’ll ask you to do something before busting out the Mom voice and threatening your tv privileges. You push my buttons with your horrible timing, demanding my attention right when I’m in the middle of something. You break my heart and make me feel inadequate with your insecurities when I see you struggle through a math problem and give up after getting the wrong answer because you believe you’re stupid and you can’t see that you only made a small mistake or the nine other problems you got correct, and I am unable to convince you of how smart you really are. Sometimes I shut myself in my room and cry when I have to discipline you and you look at me in anger and tell me I’m not your real mom, and I softly tell you “yes I am.” Because I am your mom. I’m the woman that chose you. I’m the one who no matter how mad or frustrated you make me, will never stop choosing to be your mom. When you’re sick, I’ll be the one who rubs your back and sings to you. When you’re mad and act out of anger, I’ll be the one who corrects you and forgives you. When you fall asleep not in your bed, I’ll be the one who carries you to bed even though you weigh a million pounds (at least until you’re bigger than me which probably won’t be long, so I’ll cherish every moment that I get to carry you in my arms because I know those days are numbered.)  I’ll be the one who sits with you as you struggle through your homework and I’ll never give up trying to show you how smart and special you are even if the ridiculous, over-standardized education system tries to make you feel less than that. I’ll be the one who exhausts myself trying to answer all of the rapid-fire questions your curious mind spits out in your desire to know everything about everything. I’ll be the one who tries to teach you the hard lessons even when they’re painful, because I care not just about the boy that you are now, but the man you will become, and I’ll do my best to do it with understanding and love, because I’m also the woman who sees your tiny heart and knows how fragile it is, and how deeply you desire to be loved and how badly you want to be found pleasing and how easily you become discouraged and believe you are mistake, when you’ve simply made a mistake. I’ll never stop telling you how loved you are and I’ll never stop showing you how loved you are. I’ll build Legos on the floor with you until my fingers are too tender and sore and my legs have fallen asleep. I’ll put up with your stinky feet and fart noises even though I think boys are gross. I’ll sword fight and Nerf battle and beat you on the Wii (to keep you humble) even though I’d rather be reading somewhere quiet and peaceful. I’ll turn down invitations to go out with friends to stay home with you and watch the stupid Lego movie for the fifteen-thousandth time. I’ll say no to dates because any man in my life not only has to be worthy of me, but must also be the kind of man who is worthy of you. I’ll pray every night that God will help me to be better mom tomorrow than I was today. I’ll pray every night that God will help me to raise you to be a good man. I’ll pray every night that God will keep you safe in his arms and show you His great and perfect love when even my immense love falls short because I am not perfect. And I will thank God every single day that I get to be that woman. I will treasure every time that you smile at me with that crooked smile and look at me with those big blue eyes. I will be thankful every time you say (or holler for the tenth time in as many minutes) “Mom.” Each and every time you climb into my lap, usually interrupting something else I’m doing, and tell me you just want to snuggle for a few minutes, I will sigh and put aside whatever I’m doing, because I never want to take for granted the moments I get to hold you. Before God brought me to you, I didn’t know it was possible to love anything that much, but every single day I do.