A friend wrote a post on balance that got me thinking. Not about balance since the best terms I’m on with balance is a quick nod as I race by to find the other extreme. But it did get me thinking about average.
Why do I enjoy setting myself up for failure? Why must I be a GREAT mom? The mom who pureed organic vegetables and made her own baby food. The mom who uses cloth diapers. Who breastfed when she hated it. Now, I didn’t do these things to MAKE A POINT. I did them because of the environment and I’m naturally cheap and I thought it was the right thing to do by my children. But as it turns out, they DID make a point. And once I realized that I started KEEPING UP. With Mama Jones.
Organic clothing. Polite children. GIFTED CHILDREN. I’m the MOST tired. The MOST loved. The LEAST appreciated.
But I’m not. Yes, my son slept like crap for his first two and a half years. Which either makes me the WORST mom. (You should’ve used all these brilliant baby books that worked for MY CHILDREN. You should’ve co-slept, You should’ve Ferberized. You should’ve NOT HAD BAD SLEEPING GENES.) Or the MOST TIRED mom. But, honestly, the second year of E’s sleep issues? My husband got up almost exclusively. Because I need my sleep. And once I wasn’t breastfeeding anymore, I’d claw an eye out to get it.
Of course, we all have gifted children. The average ones must just grow in cabbage patches and just appear in elementary school. Well, my children do seem smart to me. But are they READING? Um, sometimes they EAT books. Does that count?
I feed my kids food that fell on the floor. I would LOVE to reintroduce television to my household. I am tired and once my husband is home I have to pee A LOT. (And the iPhone/computer does, too.) When my children are whirling dervishes of noise and discontent, I turn up the music to drown them out.
I am not artsy. I need directions or at least a picture reference to do any sort of art project. I mean can you even guess which one of these is mine and which one is my son’s?
My husband and I circle around each other in the hopes that the one who flinches first will put BOTH children to bed. Our house is a disaster 9 out of 10 days. My husband loves leaving dirty diapers wherever he changes N. I love leaving my clothes wherever I changed. We couldn’t find the broom for a week. I have no idea when we changed a bed sheet. In any room.
I hate showering and have my iPhone set to remind me to bath my children. I once lost my son in a hardware store. I twice lost my daughter in my house.
I’m an average mom. I’m a below-average housekeeper. I have an above-average husband but that’s only because the standards for husbands and fathers are so freaking low.
Now leave me alone or I have to go back to ignoring my kids while I write.
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In response to a heated debate on one of my moms forums, an exasperated mommy finally said, “Look. We’re raising kids, not resumes.”
It’s become my Mommy Motto.
It’s so hard when everyone around you is a Stepford wife – complete with perfect post-partum bikini body – but every now and then I try to give myself a reality check. Perfection is so boring. I figure as long as I shovel out the mess every now and again, hide veggies in the Kraft mac and cheese, pretend that I’m going to limit TV, keep most choking hazards away from Elizabeth* and play video games WITH my children, we’re all okay.
*Impossible now that Joseph’s into Legos.
Perfection IS boring. But I hear you on the postpartum body. I almost DIED when multiple friends and blogs mentioned fitting in their regular pants 6-12 weeks out while I squirmed in my maternity pants… with a four month old on my lap.
I love your mommy motto.
Even worse? My baby sister rocked a white bikini when she took her son to Mommy and Me when he was SIX MONTH OLD. How?! We share the same genes, for God’s sake.
Yay to average moms! That’s how I feel on most days – I try and try and often I feel there’s so much more I could be doing, but instead of constantly feeling like I’ll never measure up to “those moms” out there (are they real?) I just stop beating myself up over it. I let go of this ridiculous ideal and you know what? My kid is fine, even great, in spite of my less than stellarness (too tired to think of the real word here), and maybe because of it.
The fact that you gave up so much of your own life and ambitions to stay home with your kids already says that your head is in the right place for them, and you’re doing all you can. If that doesn’t say you’re an amazingly dedicated mom, I’m not sure what will.
Ah. Sounds so familiar. Look honey, all us La Leche League leaders used to console ourselves by saying, do we want them to put SHE WAS A GREAT HOUSEKEEPER on our tombstones. Maybe you need less email. Yeah. That’s it. I gotta go find my vacuum cleaner and remember how to run it…..
Love, Marge
Damn, you little granola! Ha ha! My kids were 4 & 7 when I got them, and I now believe God did that for a reason, not just to rob me of the opportunity to lose sleep & feel guilty over all the proper things I didn’t do. I can already tell you are an exemplary Mom.
These are the things I always wanted for my boys: for them to have humility, hope and gratitude, and the ability to think critically. They are 16 & 19, and I feel tons of gratitude for them. They appear to be well on their way. I feel incredibly blessed.
Also, a woman told me this, which was told to her by her wise friend:
Don’t ever judge yourself as a parent until your children reach the age of 30.
I needed this. My husband is also an “above-average husband but that’s only because the standards for husbands and fathers are so freaking low.” I work full-time as a corporate lawyer (crappy long hours) and walk into the door at 730 (on a good night) or 900 (on a not so bad night) to find diapers wherever, a kitchen that needs to be cleaned and a 2 year old and 4 year old that should be in bed. The house is a wreck except on Fridays when our housekeeper comes, and it is a struggle to not yell at the above-average husband about the diapers, the kitchen and the children who need to go to bed on time. I hate the constant mess, but I love my family. I need all these reminders that I don’t need perfection.
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