Once upon a time, my son got an aquarium full of fish for his birthday.
Not long after, I accidentally killed all of his fish.
Something about aerating a tank?!?
This is a fun fact he does not let me forget.
Last week, when I meant to say, “Let’s go, dudes,” to my kids, I said, “Let’s go, boobs!”
In a very loud voice.
Across the house.
My children have not stopped talking about boobs. Lovely.
I yelled at my daughter today for something that was not even a big deal and would not have bothered me on any other day.
But today I am stressed out thinking about some things.
And she got the unfair brunt of my nerves.
I think reading aloud to my kids is basically the ninth circle of Dante’s inferno.
It makes me cotton mouthed and annoyed.
I eat lunch in my dining room with the lights off (less stimulation) and forbid my children to join me.
They don’t listen, of course.
I’ve called my son a jackass to his face. Twice.
I have ugly moments.
I say words I wish I could take back.
I make promises I don’t keep.
I am an imperfect mom.
I fail everyday.
And yet…
I have an awesome relationship with my kids.
They talk to me about their day.
I tell old stories.
We hug and kiss.
We laugh til it hurts.
I scratch their backs.
They play with my hair.
They ask hard questions.
We have dance parties during school.
And sing Let It Go in the car.
We giggle at the boys’ crushes.
And beg Chloe to tell us hers (she never does).
They pretend to be grossed out when I kiss their dad.
We talk about the small things in life.
We dream about their future together.
For all of the ways I fail, I am not actually failing my children.
I have probably said this a million times, but I will continue to beat this drum: being an imperfect mom does not make you a bad mom. It makes you normal.
Somewhere along the lines, normal became second-class.
And the unattainable, perfect mom became the standard.
And I would make the case that it’s ruining everyone.
I find that women are hardest on themselves. So let’s forget about you for a moment and think about your children. And the example we set for them.
When your daughter has kids of her own…
She’s been up all night with a teething baby, and it’s her turn to bring snacks to her toddler’s preschool…would you tell her to buy a box of Goldfish and call it a day? Or would you insist she brings whale shaped sandwiches with vegetables made into silly faces?
You’d tell her to bring the damn Goldfish. (You can cuss; she’s an adult now.)
Your son marries a precious girl who :::gasp::: loses her mind days after returning from the most magical honeymoon. Do you want your son to freak out and wonder if he made the wrong decision? Or knowingly buy her brownies, rent a sad movie, and agree that this world is an awful place and how dare they!
