A Poem for the Real Mom

Mother’s Day is coming up, and I have a little revelation to make. Being a mom is hard. I mean, pregnancy and labor and delivery aren’t easy by any means, but in comparison, that’s one of the easier things you will do as a mom.

There’s no perfect way to do it, no one “right way” to pull it off. More often than not, being a mom is flying by the seat of your pants, scrambling at the last minute, and winging it the best you can to try to keep everyone at least moderately happy without going crazy yourself. We are pinch hitters, us mothers.

And the truth is, if it works for you and your family and nobody’s getting hurt, go for it. Chances are, it probably won’t work for the next kid or possibly even tomorrow, so run with it for now.

And I’ve got a bone to pick with the internet and Facebook. I’m standing up for all us mothers out there. I have issues with this:

And this:

Don’t get me wrong. They’re adorable little poems, and I appreciate the sentiment. And I know (more than I ever admit to myself) that babies grow up WAY too fast.

But seriously. Poems and signs like those just pour gasoline on the ever-burning flame of mom-guilt that we all possess. C’mon. You know you have it too. You’re frantically doing the dishes and a little one comes running up asking “Mommy, can you play?” and because there are no clean forks to eat dinner with, you have no choice but to answer “In a few minutes, sweetie.” And then you think of one of the above poems (or something similar) and BLAM! You suddenly feel guilty for doing the dishes.

I’m sorry…but WHAT? Why should you feel guilty for only doing what needs done? Let’s be real, friends. Yes, we’d all like to spend more time with our kids. But realistically, life doesn’t work that way, and we shouldn’t give in to the false expectation that if life doesn’t work that way, we are doing something wrong. That, my mommy friends, is bull-pucky.

As one mom to another, I give you permission to sit down, relax, and know that your kids will be just fine if they play by themselves for a moment, that your baby will survive if you do not hold him or her every second. We are moms. That’s a million jobs rolled into one. If you do even half of them mostly well, you’re way ahead of the game. And no matter what, you’re doing just fine.

And so, (hang THIS on your wall instead!) I give to you:

A Poem for the Real Mom

Playtime with my kids is always priority one,

but sometimes, my friends, other things must get done.

I’m not a fan of making my kids wait their turn,

but it has to happen sometimes or dinner will burn.

And as much as I love playing games with my brood,

someone has to do laundry or we’ll all go nude.

And I can’t always leave the whole house a mess,

or some nosy neighbor will call CPS.

Sometimes I feel like such a big jerk,

when I wake up each morning and head off to work.

But housing and food are never bought free,

and my family and kids are depending on me.

Some days it’s enought that everyone gets dressed and fed,

so don’t give a thought to what others have said.

Remember that “mom” is a balancing act

and from day number one, your life will be packed.

Play with your kids, do the chores and the rest,

and NEVER let anyone tell you you’re less than

THE BEST!

Happy Mother’s Day!!

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Off The Grid

I’m pretty sure my children are sick of me. 

They see me more than most kids do, unless their mom is one of those stay-at-home moms which I could never be because I would go totally insane.  (Or spend lots and lots of money.  Me at home + bored = me spending money.  Ah yes, my husband adores my summer vacations.)

You see, my most excellent and awesome job brings in the moo-la and still only requires me to work from 8:15-2:15 Monday through Friday.  Plus I get summer off and two and a half weeks at Christmas and Easter and long weekends.  Let’s just put it this way:  Did I go into education for the vacations?  No.  Do they make my job any harder?  Also no.

So anyways. 

Despite spending some seriously large amounts of time with my children, I still have that irritating mom-guilt-voice in my head that whispers things like: 

But you don’t play with them all the time.  Remember that time they were quietly playing with play dough and you sat there and read a book?  Bad momma!  Remember when it was really pretty out and there aren’t many nice days left and you let them stay in and watch a movie instead of playing outside because you were “tired?”  Bad momma!  Or when they played in their room without killing each other for a solid fifteen minutes and you did the dishes?  Bad momma!

My mom-guilt-voice is kind of a bitch.

So I decided the other day that I would go off the grid and not look at my email or Facebook or read a book or play on my Iphone from the time I got home from work until the girls went to bed.  We’d just play.  And, actually, it was pretty awesome. 

Do I think I could do that everyday?  Probably not.  I like technology too much.  And there were definitely points where the girls just kind of ignored me and played on their own.  (And gave me odd looks for just sitting in their room.)

But I’d be willing to try to do it a few times a week, at least.  Also?  It totally shut my mom-guilt-voice up for a while.  Which is pretty darn rare for my perfectionist self.

Newsflash—> You cannot be perfect at being a mom.  I’m still working that out.

Look at my rambling-ness.  Geez.  I will reward you for listening to my craziness by giving you tons of pictures.  Kid pictures!  Off-the-grid day pictures!  Cute pictures!  Ad nauseum!

What's that you say? Children are not for menial labor? Oh.

 

Baby ghetto booty!! Corinne stuffed leaves down her pants.

 

Sister revenge!!

 

Possibly my new favorite picture

I think God reserves a special blue just for autumn skies.

 
 
 
 

We headed inside and played Build A Bear boutique.

 

And did something involving a paper tube and about 50 ponytail holders. And a pink head band.

 

 
 

I love that she can do this now. It amazes me everytime.

 

To finish off the night, we all worked on Corinne's family turkey project for school. Ta-dah!