Real Mothers

Real  Mothers

As we reach the middle of summer and I find myself yelling a little more at my kids instead of enjoying their company ALL DAY...I begin to wonder if I am a good mother. All mothers have those moment,s when they realize they have just sunk to the level of their 7 year old child (yelling back "Oh yeah, well I'm going to throw all your toys away", as I run downstairs to get a giant garbage bag and my daughter bursts into tears surrounded by her beloved littlest pet shop and playmobil toys). Or the time I criticize my 9 year old son for not swinging the bat during a baseball game (really?? He's not playing for the world series...he is NINE YEARS OLD.  My heart sank when I told him I was just trying to encourage him to play a little harder and he said "Mom, that doesn't feel very encouraging!".) It is moments like these where I wish I had a rewind button (and a giant dose of PATIENCE). As I was taking a break from the chaos, listening to the book House Rules, by Jodi Picoult, I came across this little gem and I knew I had to share it with all the other mother's out there...the last line is my favorite!!

“When did they stop putting toys in cereal boxes? When I was little, I remember wandering the cereal aisle (which surely is as American a phenomenon as fireworks on the Fourth of July) and picking my breakfast food based on what the reward was: a Frisbee with the Trix rabbit's face emblazoned on the front. Holographic stickers with the Lucky Charms leprechaun. A mystery decoder wheel. I could suffer through raisin bran for a month if it meant I got a magic ring at the end.

I cannot admit this out loud. In the first place, we are expected to be supermoms these days, instead of admitting that we have flaws. It is tempting to believe that all mothers wake up feeling fresh every morning, never raise their voices, only cook with organic food, and are equally at ease with the CEO and the PTA.

Here's a secret: those mothers don't exist. Most of us-even if we'd never confess-are suffering through the raisin bran in the hopes of a glimpse of that magic ring.

I look very good on paper. I have a family, and I write a newspaper column. In real life, I have to pick superglue out of the carpet, rarely remember to defrost for dinner, and plan to have BECAUSE I SAID SO engraved on my tombstone.

Real mothers wonder why experts who write for Parents and Good Housekeeping-and, dare I say it, the Burlington Free Press-seem to have their acts together all the time when they themselves can barely keep their heads above the stormy seas of parenthood.

Real mothers don't just listen with humble embarrassment to the elderly lady who offers unsolicited advice in the checkout line when a child is throwing a tantrum. We take the child, dump him in the lady's car, and say, "Great. Maybe YOU can do a better job."

Real mothers know that it's okay to eat cold pizza for breakfast.

Real mothers admit it is easier to fail at this job than to succeed.

If parenting is the box of raisin bran, then real mothers know the ratio of flakes to fun is severely imbalanced. For every moment that your child confides in you, or tells you he loves you, or does something unprompted to protect his brother that you happen to witness, there are many more moments of chaos, error, and self-doubt.

Real mothers may not speak the heresy, but they sometimes secretly wish they'd chosen something for breakfast other than this endless cereal.

Real mothers worry that other mothers will find that magic ring, whereas they'll be looking and looking for ages. 

Rest easy, real mothers. The very fact that you worry about being a good mom means that you already are one.” ― Jodi Picoult, House Rules

So, as we trudge along through the raisin bran that is summer vacation...remember, real mothers, that the house doesn't have to be clean, the kids don't care if they eat cereal for dinner instead of a home cooked meal, we have to enjoy the magic ring that is this time spent with our children. They don't expect us to be perfect...they just want us to be THERE.

I used to inwardly roll my eyes when people would say to me, "Enjoy them now, they grow up so fast". When my kids were 1, 2, and 3, I thought the endless days of diaper changes, feedings, laundry, and spit up would never end. Now that they are 8, 9, and 10, I realize that those people were right-they do grow up too fast!! While I appreciate that I no longer have to give them all their showers at night (how nice is it that they can wash themselves, get on their own pajamas, and brush their own teeth), I still miss rocking them to sleep after reading I'll Love You Forever for the hundredth time. I miss their endless two year old excitement at EVERYTHING ("Mommy, did you see how big that leaf was?"). As they get older...I miss being needed!  While I am happy that I have raised self-entertaining, self-sufficient kiddos (for the most part), it is nice to be needed too.

This summer vacation is a good reminder that they are still young and I need to focus on being there for them instead of being the "perfect" mother. As I clean up their messes and do the laundry, I should be appreciating that I am still needed and be thankful for these chores that mean my kids are around.  So the next time I come across a spilled cereal bowl or a fight between my three kids, or my daughter asks me for "just one more book" again before bedtime, I am going to stop, take a deep breath...and look for the magic ring amid  the raisin bran!