Being a good mom for a moment

As I write this post, one of my sons is singing a song he made up and walking up and down the stairs wearing an iron man mask and holding a sword. A daughter is eating a popsicle on the front porch. The other son is in cleaning his room. And the other daughter? I'm honestly not exactly sure, but I can hear her voice from upstairs.

One dog is by my feet. The other is pacing. 

The husband is at work. His sixth twelve-hour shift in seven days. 

It's pouring rain -- remnants from Florence which is still battering North Carolina. 

I'm tired. Oh so tired. And I realized I feel tired like

all ...

the ...

time.

Okay, I just found fourth daughter. She just asked if she could eat a popsicle her brother chose not to finish.  Sure. Why not. Way easier than refreezing it.

So, the point of this blog. 

I'm getting there.

Last night when my husband came into the house after work, he made two fairly innocuous statements: one was about the movement of a sheep tote. Seems fairly unoffending. 

The other was a very basic comment about dinner. 

Suddenly I'm crying, and he's defending, and I want to yell, and the kids are nearby but appear completely oblivious because they are inserting comments like: 

Dad are you going to read to us?

Hey Dad watch this handstand I've been working on today.

Dad which allergy medicine do you want me to take?

All the while my eyes are filling up and husband is completely dumbfounded as to why I am upset, and I am just wanting to curl up under my covers and go to sleep and not solve this or discuss it anymore. 

My mind is flashing back to all sorts of separate moments scattered throughout my day. 

Like the moment I told my son he had ten minutes to clean up his room and he asked me, "What if it takes eleven minutes?"

Or the moment my daughter walked in on me while I was standing on the scale and said, "Wow. You are heavy."

There was a fight over what appeared to be an old used container of play dough. 

And a lunch that was promptly dropped on the floor and (mostly) eaten by a dog. 

So many moments. 

So much noise. 

Lots of hugs. 

Lots of tears. 

Lots of smiles. 

Lots of frustrations. 

Lots of animals.

So many frustrations.

So many things that felt like failure. 

When the kids were finally in bed, and my husband and I had a minute alone together, he asked me what was going on. 

Earlier that day I had had the courage to reach out to three different girlfriends. I confessed to each of them that I didn't feel like I was a good mom. And to my surprise each gal responded that she often feels the same way, and she assured me I wasn't alone in this journey.

Of course, husbands are a different beast entirely, and when I told my husband I wasn't a good mom, he said: "Are you serious?"

And I said, "Yes."

And he said, "Even though I tell you all the time that you are?"

And I said back, "Well, honestly ..."

And then he said, "You think I am lying to you?"

And then I said, "I thought you mostly were. Just trying to make me feel better."

He rolled his eyes and told me this was an absolutely ridiculous accusation. 

I went into a fairly long soliloquy about the balls I have been dropping and the bad food I was eating and the patience I wasn't having, and I told him I had no idea how to sit down with my kids when it felt like every moment I sat down was a moment I wasn't getting something done and no matter how much I got done it felt like there was more to get done, and how could I not treasure every single moment with these amazing beings that I yearned and begged for with my whole heart? 

Oh and yeah. I'm supposed to be a friend and a mom and daughter and a sister too. And a wife which I often forget. I'm supposed to remember the birthdays and pray and encourage and all that jazz.

And then husband did something that all women need to do themselves ... without a husband needing them to do it for them. 

Husband made a list of the things I did that day. 

Try it.

Just pick one day. 

Any one mom day. 

And write down all the things you did. 

The list husband made was long. 

Painfully long. 

Like, I started feeling guilty for feeling guilty about my mothering when I heard all the things I'd done that day. They may seem like meaningless or trivial things but there are a lot of them. From the kitchen to their bedrooms to their closets to their backpacks and what they ate and what they drank and what activities they did.

I have four kids. 

• If each kid does two activities a week that's eight activities a week. 
• If each kid changes clothes one time a day that's twenty-eight changes of clothes. (And heaven knows my youngest does that just herself in a day.) 
• If each of them eats three meals a day that's eighty-four meals a week. 
• If they pick ten books from the library every two weeks that's forty books to keep track of. 
• If I read five books a day that's thirty-five books I have read with them.
• If they take a shower every other day (on a good week) that is sixteen shower/bath monitorings. 

And none of these things listed above is stuff for me or husband or friends. Just the kids. That's it. The kids.

You get the idea. It's a lot of stuff. I'm not even listing grocery shopping and Amazon purchases and the fact that ...

Oh. 

Yeah. 

Did I mention we also run a farm? 

And for some reason we homeschool those children? 

And I realized that it wasn't just me that needed to hear this. All my mom friends needed to hear this too. You may not homeschool or run a farm. But you definitely have your things. The extra work you have to do or the parent you have to take care of or the neighbors who need your help.

We need to hear that we aren't perfect. Far from it. We make lots of mistakes. We are crabby. We say things we shouldn't. We are exhausted. We dream of a vacation. We hide in our closets eating cookies. We don't exercise enough. We don't sleep enough. We drink too much caffeine. We don't spend enough one-on-one time with our kids 

... you get it. 

You know it. 

You feel it. 

And while I can't tell you to stop feeling it because goodness knows I haven't figured out that part, I can tell you to try and let yourself off the hook. 

And just let yourself be a good mom for a moment.