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I finally see you, mom—all the love, sacrifice and selflessness

I called you to come over today because I felt overwhelmed. You didn't hesitate to say yes, you'd be down as soon as your load of clothes in the wash was finished. And you came with lunch for me and the boys. Just your presence put me at ease and I could breathe again. Why does everything feel so safe when you're around?


I'm 31 and I still get that feeling to go running to you sometimes.

You always know what to say to me to make everything feel better. You're the only one who hears everything I don't say and sees everything I try to hide.

I feel like I'm finally here, standing in your shoes. During the hardest of moments, I realize this is what you did for me. Some days I feel like no one hears me. No one sees me. At times, I feel like I give and give, and I'm demanded to give even more. And it goes unnoticed. My husband unintentionally makes me feel like what I do isn't as important as what he does, because I have nothing to show for it at the end of the day. The house is still messy. The sink is full again. The bathroom floor is covered with water and wet towels, and I can't even remember myself what I got done during the day.

Sometimes I feel like you're the only one who sees what I do.

You're the only one who understands how much of myself I'm giving, and how much I'm loving.

During the most giving of moments, I have flashbacks of you giving to me. The grapes that I don't eat so that the boys can have them, because I know how much Dacky loves them. I remember there always being grapes for me growing up. I don't know if you liked them or not, but I assumed you didn't because you never ate them. Even now, you'll tell me to go ahead and eat the last of anything I want—you “don't need to eat it anyway." I've always believed you, until I became a mother. Now I know you're giving it to me, even if you want it, because you'd rather your child have it.

During the most sacrificing of moments, I realize how much you still sacrifice for me. All day, I listen to everyone else's stories, their exciting news and achievements. I look at Lego castles, jumps off of steps, and karate kicks in the air. I watch trees climbed and slides scaled the wrong way. I'm asked to watch and listen to what everyone else does, and after everyone is in bed, I have a sliver of time to remember me.

Sometimes I feel like I do the same thing to you.

I call you and I can't get the words out fast enough—all the things I want you to hear about my life. You're the only one who listens attentively to my every word and feels excited for me like no one else does. Or at least you do a dang good job of making me feel that way. When we hang up the phone, I so often realize I never asked how you were doing.

You're my safe place.

You mother me even when I don't know it. You make me feel so special, so heard, and I never appreciated it until this time in my life when I come last so often. Until I realized how it feels to be on the other side—to be the safe place for someone else.

I used to think I had stopped needing you a long time ago, that I was blazing new paths you never took. And you let me believe that. Yet all the while you've been following along on the side, right out of eyesight—always there to help me get back up when I've fallen, just like you've done since I was a little girl. Thank you doesn't even come close to expressing how I feel, but I just want you to know I see you now. I see you all day long, in my darkest hours and in my most blissful moments looking into the faces of my children. I see what you sacrificed and how much you loved.

I finally see it, Mom.

Everyone is born with a guardian angel

And on her wings she'll let you soar

Higher than you thought was possible

She'll love you and protect you like no other

And your guardian angel has a name

You can call her mother

--

The sacrifices that she will make

To put you first when everything's at stake

How all that she's devoted

Until now you never noticed

She was showing you

How to be a guardian angel too

—Leah West, “Guardian Angel"

This article was originally published on Pig and Dac.

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Summer heat has a way of making the house feel smaller, more congested, with less room for the air to circulate. And there's nothing like the heat to make me want to strip down, cool off and lighten my load. So, motivation in three digits, now that school is back in, it's time to do a purge.

Forget the spring clean—who has time for that? Those last few months of the school year are busier than the first. And summer's warm weather entices our family outdoors on the weekends, which doesn't leave much time for re-organizing.

So, I seize the opportunity when my kids are back in school to enter my zone.

I love throwing open every closet and cupboard door, pulling out anything and everything that doesn't fit our bodies or our lives. Each joyless item purged peels off another oppressive layer of "not me" or "not us."

Stuff can obscure what really makes us feel light, capable and competent.

Stuff can stem the flow of what makes our lives work.

With my kids back in school, I am energized, motivated by the thought that I have the space to be in my head with no interruptions. No refereeing. No snacks. No naps… I am tossing. I am folding. I am stacking. I am organizing. I don't worry about having to stop. The neat-freak in me is having a field day.

Passing bedroom doors, ajar and flashing their naughty bits of chaos at me, it's more than I can handle in terms of temptation. I have to be careful, though, because I can get on a roll. Taking to my kids' rooms I tread carefully, always aware that what I think is junk can actually be their treasure.

But I usually have a good sense for what has been abandoned or invisible in plain sight for the lack of movement or the accumulation of dust. Anything that fits the description gets relegated to a box in the garage where it is on standby—in case its absence is noticed and a meltdown has ensued. Crisis averted. Either way, it's a victory.

Oh, it's quiet. So, so quiet. And I can think it all through…

Do we really need all this stuff?

Will my son really notice if I toss all this stuff?

Will my daughter be heartbroken if I donate all this stuff?

Will I really miss this dress I wore three years ago that barely fit my waist then and had me holding in my tummy all night, and that I for sure cannot zip today?

Can we live without it all? All. This. Stuff?

The fall purge always gets me wondering, where in the world does all this stuff come from? So with the beginning of the school year upon us, I vow to create a new mindset to evaluate everything that enters my home from now on, so that there will be so much less stuff.

I vow to really think about objects before they enter my home…

…to evaluate what is really useful,

...to consider when it would be useful,

...to imagine where it would be useful,

...to remember why it may be useful,

…to decide how to use it in more than one way,

... so that all this stuff won't get in the way of what really matters—time and attention for my kids and our lives as a new year reveals more layers of the real stuff—what my kids are made of.

Bring it on.

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In the moments after we give birth, we desperately want to hear our baby cry. In the middle of the night a few months later it's no longer exactly music to our ears, but those cries aren't just telling us that baby needs a night feeding: They're also giving us a hint at what our children may sound like as kindergarteners, and adults.

New research published in the journal Biology Letters suggests the pitch of a 4-month-old's cry predicts the pitch they'll use to ask for more cookies at age five and maybe even later on as adults.

The study saw 2 to 5-month olds recorded while crying. Five years later, the researchers hit record again and chatted with the now speaking children. Their findings, combined with previous work on the subject, suggest it's possible to figure out what a baby's voice will sound like later in life, and that the pitch of our adult voices may be traceable back to the time we spend in utero. Further studies are needed, but scientists are very interested in how factors before birth can impact decades later.

"In utero, you have a lot of different things that can alter and impact your life — not only as a baby, but also at an adult stage," one of the authors of the study, Nicolas Mathevon, told the New York Times.

The New York Times also spoke with Carolyn Hodges, an assistant professor of anthropology at Boston University who was not involved in the study. According to Hodges, while voice pitch may not seem like a big deal, it impacts how we perceive people in very real ways.

Voice pitch is a factor in how attractive we think people are, how trustworthy. But why we find certain pitches more or less appealing isn't known. "There aren't many studies that address these questions, so that makes this research especially intriguing," Hodges said, adding that it "suggests that individual differences in voice pitch may have their origins very, very early in development."

So the pitch of that midnight cry may have been determined months ago, and it may determine part of your child's future, too. There are still so many things we don't know, but as parents we do know one thing: Our babies cries (as much as we don't want to hear them all the time) really are something special.

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For many years, Serena Williams seemed as perfect as a person could be. But now, Serena is a mom. She's imperfect and she's being honest about that and we're so grateful.

On the cover of TIME, Williams owns her imperfection, and in doing so, she gives mothers around the world permission to be as real as she is being.

"Nothing about me right now is perfect," she told TIME. "But I'm perfectly Serena."

The interview sheds light on Williams' recovery from her traumatic birth experience, and how her mental health has been impacted by the challenges she's faced in going from a medical emergency to new motherhood and back to the tennis court all within one year.

"Some days, I cry. I'm really sad. I've had meltdowns. It's been a really tough 11 months," she said.

It would have been easy for Williams to keep her struggles to herself over the last year. She didn't have to tell the world about her life-threatening birth experience, her decision to stop breastfeeding, her maternal mental health, how she missed her daughter's first steps, or any of it. But she did share these experiences, and in doing so she started incredibly powerful conversations on a national stage.

After Serena lost at Wimbledon this summer, she told the mothers watching around the world that she was playing for them. "And I tried," she said through tears. "I look forward to continuing to be back out here and doing what I do best."

In the TIME cover story, what happened before that match, where Williams lost to Angelique Kerber was revealed. TIME reports that Williams checked her phone about 10 minutes before the match, and learned, via Instagram, that the man convicted of fatally shooting her sister Yetunde Price, in 2003 is out on parole.

"I couldn't shake it out of my mind," Serena says. "It was hard because all I think about is her kids," she says. She was playing for all the mothers out there, but she had a specific mother on her mind during that historic match.

Williams' performance at Wimbledon wasn't perfect, and neither is she, as she clearly states on the cover of time. But motherhood isn't perfect either. It's okay to admit that. Thanks, Serena, for showing us how.

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There are some mornings where I wake up and I'm ready for the day. My alarm goes off and I pop out of bed and hum along as I make breakfast before my son wakes up. But then there are days where I just want 10 more minutes to sleep in. Or breakfast feels impossible to make because all our time has run out. Or I just feel overwhelmed and unprepared.

Those are the mornings I stare at the fridge and think, Can someone else just make breakfast, please?

Enter: make-ahead breakfasts. We spoke to the geniuses at Pinterest and they shared their top 10 pins all around this beautiful, planned-ahead treat. Here they are.

(You're welcome, future self.)

1. Make-ahead breakfast enchiladas

www.pinterest.com

Created by Bellyful

I'd make these for dinner, too.

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