I had no intention of writing today, but I can hardly help myself.

This is Hayden's second week of working for his grandpa.  His first week consisted of a country boy's welcome; I'm talking chigger-eaten ankles, rattlesnakes (plural) and a one-hundred plus degree sun.  I was starting to feel sorry for him.  Just last night I'd sent him a text asking him for some ideas of things to send him in a care package.

The graph pictured below is the text I get back.  Some thanks. Of course he meant it in jest.... I think.

But It's true.  Moms are scary, and not just when they're angry.

We don't mean to be.  We have a God-given responsibility; and one of the most precious privileges. We take Momhood seriously; so serious, it's scary.

A Guide to Understanding Mom's Scariness:

We're scary because we're tired. With yesterday's smudgy makeup, and our hair every-which way, we may still be wearing the same pink athletic shorts we were wearing the day before-We're zombies on our toes. "Got. to. keep. going."  And that's just our scary outside.

Some of us are not physically over thirty-two hours of labor, the hundreds-maybe thousands of diapers we changed, or carrying you when you weighed forty some-odd pounds because we knew you were a little tornado destroying anything in your path (like the row of flowering plants at HEB).

We don't cry over spilled milk.  But we may shed crazy tears when someone spills milk all over the counter, down the cabinet and on the floor leaving it to dry and crust....AND no one knows who spilled it.

We may snap at you after we've folded the one-hundred and forty-ninth piece of laundry- when you throw your dirty socks in the floor ( or if you come bounding down the stairs in your fourth shirt of the day). Fatigue makes it difficult to find our "sweet voice".

We scare you because we're unpredictable. Just when you think you have us figured out, you'll find that you don't.   That same ill-fitting shirt with the tiny bleach stain you've worn repeatedly suddenly becomes unacceptable to us. We'll seem out-of-control over something small like an unflushed toilet or your light being left on.

We'll act shocked at the amount of junk under your bed though we knew good and well the stuff was there for months.

We'll let you do something you didn't expect, like stomp a mud puddle.  We may suggest you scream collectively in the car.

We may refuse to bring the homework you left on the table to school even though we've brought it six times before.

We'll hug you when you deserve to be grounded for life.

Note: In our undying attempt to mother you properly, hormones make us even more "Jeckyl and Hyde".  Sometimes they're to blame for our for our happy to hostile, in zero seconds.

We're scary because we're scared. We're afraid that the things we say won't stick so we sound off over and over like Rain Man; we rattle off lists of "do's and don'ts" making sure you won't forget.

Things like toothpicks, anything with wheels that you're steering and grapes the size of your windpipe present themselves as potential dangers- as do members of the opposite sex your age.  So we intervene, sometimes prematurely, sometimes violently, in order to keep you safe.

We're complex creatures with a simple heart; a heart that cherishes you. Some things we're figuring out slowly.  Some things we won't figure out.  In the scary mystery of mother, there's one thing that tops the list of things we hope you know. Behind the gripes and beyond the advice we hope you know that we love you madly.  Right underneath the tirade and long talkings to- remains a heart of mush for you.

A note about the graph: The graph pictured above is gracious.  It lists the scariest things in the world as being monsters, crazy people, natural disasters and my mom when she's angry.  I represent all in the list with the exception of natural disasters.