Before I became a mom, I was always under the impression that motherhood would bring out the supreme perfectionist in me. I always had those tendencies anyway, and I figured having children would prove to myself what a showstopper I could be. Ha!
Let me paint the real picture. Each day, I start out with my mental list of things I will perfectly and effortlessly accomplish. Playing with my kids, of course. Educational play (puzzles, ABCs, numbers, etc.). Arts and Crafts. Outdoor play. Baths. Vacuuming. Reorganizing closets. Dusting. Gym. Bathe the dog. Cut her nails. Put banana bread in oven. Bathe myself. Shave legs. Mend broken and ripped books. Play with dog. Make bed. Laundry. Organize coupons. Pay Bills. Post on blog. File old bills. Read to girls. Paint toenails. Start dinner.
Instead, a day often goes as blissful as this: Wake up. Feed the girls breakfast (it was supposed to be oatmeal, but Eggo waffles are faster). Check Facebook. Spend 20 minutes convincing Josie that pears are delicious. Eat Josie's pears while she scrambles down from table. Play with girls. Check email. Realize it is way too late for a bath for the girls and give them the old washcloth spritz. Drag everyone to the gym. Realize I am sweating and tired and I haven't even worked out yet. Back home, late lunch for the girls. Jam them into a nap and get a shower. Hmm, maybe now might be a good time to brush my teeth, seeing as it's 2 p.m. Check Facebook. Turn on Bravo. Damn, it's Millionaire Matchmaker, Plan B. Go to put a load of laundry in, realize there is still wet laundry in the washer from 3 days ago, rewash. Feel guilty that I haven't formally walked the dog in like 2 weeks. Did I eat lunch yet? Eh I'll just wait for dinner and eat this, uh what is this? Oh ok a Twizzler, sounds good. Crap, I didn't take the chicken out of the freezer. Looks like it's frozen pizza night. One of the girls is up early from her nap, great. Sit her down to paint but she just gets paint all over her white shorts, which irritates me, so we color instead. Now the other one is up. Early. I need to make myself some coffee. But I didn't eat so I'll get too shaky. Maybe I should check Facebook again. Ok, tackle those coupons. The short baby gets in my coupons and messes up my piles. Then the bigger one grabs my scissors and runs (yes, runs. With scissors.) away. Hubby will be home any minute and the house looks like Fisher Price had an exploding baby with Melissa & Doug. Dog whines to go out. I should probably go to the bathroom myself before I wet my pants. Instead I look up recipes for healthy crock pot dinners that I will never make. You know, on that off chance I can find a last-minute, inspired recipe that involves peanut butter and deli ham, because that's all we have that is not frozen solid. Too late. Hubby comes home and the guilt of having done nothing I planned on sets in.
Wow! Look at those paragraphs! The last paragraph is way longer and looks like I got a lot more done than the paragraph before it. Alas, there be-ith the rub. I manage to do less in more time than my perfect mom-counterparts do in far less time. I wonder: is it me, am I not cut out to stay at home with my children? Am I too ADD to manage it? Is my problem that I take on too much, or I don't write my list down, or that I let my kids distract me, or that I hate pressure so I don't even try? Is it really true that the path to hell is lined with good intentions? Am I going to hell??
Here is what I have determined so far. Yes, I think it is true that there are those moms out there who are super organized, efficient multi-taskers, proactive think-aheaders, can tune into multiple streams of stimuli at once, and can look good and have makeup on and jewelry besides.
Then there's me. Though I think I have a TON of room for improvement, I do think I am a pretty decent mom. I try to let my kids be who they are without too much interference. I try to be laid back. I try to instill in them respect, manners, courtesy, empathy, kindness. I play with them, read to them, wrestle with them, let them pretend to put makeup on me, sing to them endlessly. I make sure they are clean (at some point) every day, fed, clothed in matching (or at least not clashing) outfits, nails cut, teeth brushed, happy. I remember their short little pasts fondly -- and a little tearfully sometimes -- and I plan for their futures. I try to keep their present fun, exciting, stimulating and full of love. And I do it all looking rough, feeling scattered, and inside a house that needs a good once-over with the old Hoover.
And those perfect moms? Sure, they exist. They in their matchy matchy outfits, Starbucks latte in hand at the playground, Janie and Jack-clad kids playing gleefully. The ones with the best tasting, low-calorie-though-you-wouldn't-know-it dinner in the crock pot at home and a fresh baked dessert on tap for after. The ones that effortlessly wallpapered their giant laundry rooms while their 2 year old twins napped peacefully. The ones who actually have energy left for their husbands at night and keep up on all their correspondence with college friends and make their bed each morning and blog weekly about their latest (completely inventive) craft and get four workouts a week in and volunteer at their kids' preschools. Those moms. I used to hate them, but I am learning to not care and compare so much, and soon, I hope to admire them.
Admire them in a distant, passive way, that is... as I change my kid's disposable diaper on the grass and scratch what's left of my toenail polish off as my daughter eats a stick that no doubt some drooly dog left behind. My smiley, sweet, filthy daughter. I'll take it.
This post is so very me - I recently went back to work after deciding that I was simply a failure as a stay-at-home-mom, but your post keeps it real and reminds me that most of us are just struggling along and doing the best we can.
Posted by: 1wolfsong.wordpress.com | 01/09/2013 at 07:48 PM