I stood there in my kitchen with all three of them screaming at the top of their tiny lungs. Each wanted Mommy and for different reasons that would require me to be nothing less than Wonder Woman. My lighting belt and mad skills were MIA at the moment. My brain was mush and my energy miserably depleted, so all I could do was chop #2’s apple and yell over all the noise, “I hear you!” In reality, I wanted to high tail it out of there and jump on the next plane to the Bahamas. Mai Tai anyone?! But this was life. My life.
It’s like this most days. I feel like at least one of them is always screaming or whining or talking loudly enough to be heard in Canada. My poor neighbors… I wish I could apologize to you daily! But the littles have taken over my life and they always need to make sure Mommy knows what’s up. And trust me sweet child, I do. There’s just one thing I think you and your brothers may have overlooked.
I’m human. Yes, it’s true. I know you are shocked and you truly cannot fathom why I can’t do everything all at once all the time… like seriously, all the time. But, alas, the truth has now come out! I don’t have it all together. Sorry to disappoint.
And dear children you will come to find that we parents will at times loose our junk. We will look around and think, “Dear Lord, what have I done? The mutiny has come!” But rest assured little ones, we will find solidarity in the fact that nobody can do it all.
I’m doing my best. And so are you, fellow parenting warrior. It’s my personal best, not yours. And after three kids, I’ve come to realize I can’t compare my best to yours. We need to make sure to leave our ‘bests’ in our own homes because until we walk in each others’ shoes, we will never really know the full story. We can somehow knit together a sketchy narrative of what we think is happening and how we measure up next to it. But that’s all it is… nothing but sketch.
Listen friends. It’s just not that simple. The demands are crazy and overwhelming. It’s not physically possible to make each person in your home happy all of the time, meeting all their needs exactly how they need it at that second. You aren’t Jesus, okay. And that’s a good thing.
If your kids are fed, somewhat clothed (eh… depends if your children like to be nudists) and alive, you can slap yourself on the shoulder and call yourself a rockstar. For freaking real. Because you are. Being a parent is no joke and raising people to be functioning adults is not for the faint of heart. It takes blood, sweat and a whole lot of tears to make it through each phase of childhood. So cut yourself some slack and trust God to pick up where you feel you lack. Goodness gracious give yourself some grace!
Have a glass of wine (or two). Eat right out of that ice cream carton. Where those yoga pants like a boss. Because you deserve it. And deep down I think your kids know it too.
Your best is enough, dear one.
And that’s something this Momma knows.