Some might think that I’m a super mom from what I write online. Buy ahead, I admonish. Or, set boundaries with children. Even through the sarcasm I sound as if I always parent with love and patience and such.

Guess what? I don’t. I am human.

Looking at the reactions other parents have to life, motherhood, and children; I’d even wager I’m more human and imperfect than most mothers. I’m terrible at time management, chore management, and child management. I can’t juggle the balance between firm but don’t-screw-your-kid-up some days. I yell when they’ve punched each other for the umpteenth time that day and cry when they’ve kicked each other for that many times plus one.

Given all that, I still try. Why? Frankly, I try because they still wake up every day needing me.

I’ve literally given up some days. I’ve shut myself in the closet with nothing but a blanket and a pillow and resolved to never come out. “Let them figure it out,” I say, tears leaking into the carpet.

When they were younger, they’d poke their little fingers under the door crack and beg me to come out again. Now that they’re older, they put on “10 Hours of Screaming Goat” and see how much I can stand.

I often resent my position of The Only Toilet Paper Replacer and Sole Lint Trap Cleaner. I sigh as I throw away empty cereal boxes left on counters. I cringe when I pick up dirty underpants left behind couches or stuffed in a houseplant.

But, whether to tiny fingers or screaming goats, I always get up.

No, that doesn’t mean I feel better. It doesn’t mean I feel a surge of affection and motivation. I’m just not the sort who is able to snap on a pair of rose-colored glasses when reality keeps slapping my face with empty boxes and misplaced underpants.

So, what keeps me going? They do.

Even as I type this, my five-year-old asks me questions about The Avengers. Two minutes later he wonders when lunchtime will come. Thirty seconds after that, he’s wondered if I’ll play a game with him. He’s not the only one; behind his questions is a chorus of noise in the form of the morning’s dishes, yesterday’s garbage, and every day’s laundry.

When I am in the thick of parenting, the only thing that gets me off the floor is the compulsion to keep them alive. All you parents know this and have experienced it. Yet; you also know something more. I’ve written about it before and it is still as true in the moment of immediate responsibility as it is in the times they are finally asleep.

It is love. We love these miniature humans. We always will.

They may not fully appreciate that love till we successfully kick them out and get them to make their own humans, but it’s enough for now. It’s enough to keep them alive and fed and hugged and scolded and kissed and forgiven till then. It’s at least enough to keep the toilet paper full.

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Sunday, April 28: “Me Time Just Might Be Wishful Thinking,” an observation on how possible it is to take time for ourselves as parents.

Monday, April 29: Wrote a limerick called “A Limerick About Tardiness.”

Tuesday, April 30: Shared a quote by Diane Keaton.

Wednesday, May 1: Plated a fifth dinner tip about trying new recipes.

Thursday, May 2: “Early to Bed??,” a quick thought about the accuracy of old adages.

Friday, May 3: Advised in favor of the occasional special family photo session in “Go for Perfection …Sometimes.”

Saturday, May 4: Shared Sarah Lake-Mitchell‘s tweet about accidental naptime.

Sunday, May 5: That’s today!

 

Photo Credits:
Image by Mandyme27 from Pixabay
Image by marcisim from Pixabay
Image by skalekar1992 from Pixabay