You know those days that completely exhaust you, and then one more thing happens that makes you question whether you’re even cut out for the job God gave you?

Yeah…

That was me Saturday.

The day actually started off pretty great.

Well… after our first disagreement.

Daniel had decided swim trunks were completely unnecessary for a trip to the lake.

After what felt like an Olympic-level negotiation, we finally made it to the lake with swim trunks in tow.

Notice I said with us.

Not on him.

Small victories.

Once we got there, though, it was wonderful.

Both boys got on kayaks, and Daniel did it for the very first time. Carter loved it too, but one of my favorite things about watching my boys experience something new isn’t actually the activity itself.

It’s how badly they still want their mom involved.

Daniel refused to let me let go of his kayak at first. He wanted me right there beside him, holding on while he figured it out.

Then, every six-point-eight seconds…

“Mom! Watch this!”

I’d look over.

He’d paddle three feet.

“Mom! Watch this!”

I’d look again.

He’d paddle three more feet.

Over and over and over again.

The funny part?

He was doing the exact same thing every single time.

And I watched it.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Because one day there will come a moment when he doesn’t need me to hold onto the kayak anymore.

One day he won’t yell, “Mom, watch this!” every few seconds.

One day he’ll just… go.

So for now, I’ll gladly watch him paddle those same three feet a hundred times if it means he still wants his mom cheering him on.

Watching both of my boys try something new and seeing the excitement on their faces reminded me why I always say yes to adventures, even when they’re a lot of work.

Then we headed home.

That’s when the wheels slowly started falling off.

We were all tired.

Sunburned.

Hungry.

Running on fumes.

We grabbed food, and I was convinced everyone needed a nap.

Well…

Daniel took one in the car.

The rest of us apparently chose chaos instead.

After dinner, I made what I thought was a perfectly reasonable parenting decision.

“Boys, watch a movie for a little while. Mom needs about thirty minutes to work on a few things.”

Thirty minutes.

That’s all I wanted.

Just thirty minutes.

A little while later, I heard noises that didn’t sound quite right.

You know that feeling?

The one where your mom instincts kick in and your brain immediately says, “Something isn’t right.”

I walked into the living room…

…and found two peaches smeared across my walls.

Not one.

Two.

They may have been a little overripe, but I was planning on eating them that night.

Instead…

Apparently they became abstract art.

Pizza had joined the party too.

Sauce.

Cheese.

Crust.

Just… everywhere.

I stood there for a second wondering if I had somehow walked into the wrong house.

What do you even do in that moment?

Besides trying not to cry.

We cleaned.

I called my dad.

I called my best friend.

My mom talked to the boys.

We scrubbed walls.

Picked up pizza.

Cleaned peaches.

Sent two very tired little boys to bed early.

Which, if you’re a parent, you already know doesn’t mean they actually go to sleep.

It means they come out approximately every seven minutes for water, another hug, one more question, or because someone looked at them funny.

Eventually…

The house got quiet.

And as soon as it did…

I cried.

Not because of the peaches.

Not because of the pizza.

Because I was tired.

Bone tired.

The kind of tired that makes you wonder if you’re enough.

The kind that whispers, “Maybe you’re just not cut out for this.”

I remember thinking…

Why can’t I have thirty minutes?

Thirty minutes to answer emails.

Thirty minutes to fold laundry.

Thirty minutes to breathe.

How do parents do this?

Then I caught myself.

A lot of parents do it together.

A lot of them have someone to say, “I’ve got the kids.”

Someone to tag in when they’re running on empty.

As a single mom…

Sometimes there isn’t anyone to tag in.

Sometimes the only quiet part of your day starts after everyone else is asleep.

Sometimes you choose between rest and getting things done.

And somehow neither choice feels like the right one.

But here’s the funny thing.

This morning I walked into the living room, and the peach stains were gone.

The pizza was gone.

The mess was cleaned up.

The walls survived.

The boys survived.

And so did I.

The only thing left was another story.

One day, I’m probably going to laugh about this.

Okay…

Maybe not anytime soon.

But one day.

Because that’s motherhood.

It’s messy.

Sticky.

Exhausting.

Humbling.

And somehow still worth every second.

Especially the moments where little boys still yell, “Mom, watch this!”

So if you had a rough weekend too, let me encourage you with this…

Maybe your kids spilt their drink 3 times.

Maybe they melted down in the grocery store.

Maybe you questioned every parenting decision you’ve ever made.

Or maybe…

Just maybe…

Your kids didn’t throw peaches and pizza at the living room wall.

If that’s the case…

I’d say you’re having a pretty good week.

As for me, I’m adding another wonderfully messy patch to our quilt.

Not because it’s a memory I wanted.

But because it’s real.

Because somewhere between holding onto a kayak, cleaning peaches off the wall, and crying after bedtime, I realized something.

The same little boy who needed me to hold onto his kayak all afternoon is also the little boy who made the biggest mess that evening.

And somehow…

I wouldn’t trade either memory.

Because one reminds me that motherhood is hard.

The other reminds me that, for just a little while longer…

I’m still the person they want beside them.

Those are the threads I’ll hold onto the longest.