I believe in kids in the kitchen measuring and mess making.

I believe in playing in the rain with rubber boots and purple umbrellas.

I believe in cereal for dinner and drinking the milk out of the bowl. 

I believe in story time with actual books containing actual pages.

I believe in trips to the grocery store with little people hanging off of every limb.

I believe in trips to Target all alone as a reward for the trips to the grocery store.

I believe in cheap sunglasses and five dollar coffee.

I believe in welcoming babies into my bed in the middle of the night.

I believe in bubble baths and kids wrapped in warm, fluffy towels.

I believe in monster swings and hide-and-seek.

I believe in guilt-free girl time and phone-free family time.

I believe in Little House on the Prairie and Jesus Loves Me, this I know. 

I believe in rocking babies cause babies don’t keep and counting blessings instead of sheep.

I believe in footie pajamas and late night snuggles.

I believe in the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny and taking full credit for being both.

I believe in picnics and park swings.

I believe in camp outs in the backyard – with daddy, cause mama ain’t got time for that.

I believe in saying, “I’m sorry” and “I forgive you.”

I believe in road trips with windows rolled down and plenty of Dramamine.

I believe in clipping coupons and, occasionally, splurging.

I believe that your family can look nothing like mine, that we can parent very differently, that you can breast feed and I can bottle, that you can have one kid and I can have five, that you can use whole foods and I can use frozen. I believe that, in the midst of the differences, we can still stand together and raise our babes the best we can.

Because, at the end of the day, I believe mothers are rock stars who just happen to smell like spit up.