Monday, August 14, 2017

You might have noticed that I don’t really blog anymore. It’s mostly due to the lack of toddler escapades and constant going. X-Man has a full schedule of things that are strengthening him and really helping him. Unfortunately, he can’t yet drive himself. Nor can any of the children drive themselves anywhere. So that’s why I spent the weekend out of town at another soccer tournament. I believe it was called the “Out of Our League” games. I can home in time to be able to drive Baba to 8am conditioning for her future high school team. So while I was sitting in the car, not exercising like I was supposed to be, trying to figure out how to get three children to four places at the same time, I got an email.

I have done this to myself. I know. 
It wasn’t the email I was hoping for. I’ve gone and created at “storyline” for myself I suppose. I have five children enrolled in fall soccer. I have all the regrets. There was that fleeting moment where it seemed like a good idea….I LOVE fall soccer. The weather hovers around 70 degrees, but there’s a light breeze with just a touch of crispness in it. And who doesn’t want to watch four year olds chase a ball around? It’s fun and cute….until the older kids have games an hour away. And practices.  Practices are the true challenges because somehow everyone seems to practice at the exact same time in very different locations. I have almost everything planned out….but I’m stuck waiting for an email from X-Man’s team letting me know how big a monkey wrench they’re gonna throw into this mess. 

So now I hover on edge, figuring my life is about to become vastly more complicated but not knowing how. It’s frustrating.

But that was NOT the email I received. At all. Instead it was a request from a radio station to do an interview about an article I wrote. At 4:30am my time tomorrow morning. And I can’t remember this article, which may or may not be an issue. But I’m assuming if they want to talk to me about “The Vocation of Motherhood” I should remember what I said. Then again, maybe they too misread the title and saw it as “The Vacation of Motherhood” which I did at first and then cried.

I’m also guessing they are unaware of the fact that my blog title is “Moments in Mediocre Motherhood.”  I mean, I wouldn’t really take advice from me. But that’s worthwhile advice I suppose.

So I still don’t have a clue what next week’s schedule is, but I have plans for 4am tomorrow. Provided I can find whatever it is that inspired them to contact me. And coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. 

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Well, it appears that the thing de jour is to rant about something current. Bonus points seem to be awarded if it pertains to things feminine. Well, I've never been one to turn down the opportunity to rant so, here's something that's been eating at me for a while.
Motherhood is hard. This really is unnecessary to say. Heck, it's the reason why this blog exists. So yes, we do seem to understand that motherhood is hard. 

And nowhere is this better understood than in online groups of women, well mothers anyway. There's plenty of commiseration, venting and reassurance seeki

ng. Post after post begins "tell me if I'm a bad mom if I......" which of course, being a civilized (mostly) society, results in the mother be reassured that no she's not a bad mom if she feeds her kids cereal for dinner three times in one week. 

I admit I've been comforted by knowing that mothers I respect have hit up the drive thru on the way home. That they've allowed their kids to wear shoes with no socks occasionally. I'm reassured knowing that all moms struggle. Because, I hope, it means I'm not doing to so very badly.

But there's a danger in wanting to constantly be reassured that we're not "bad moms." Maybe, sometimes, out consciences are pricking us for all the right reasons. If we have to seek out comfort, repeatedly, to be reassured that we are indeed doing it right.....maybe we aren't.

I don't know what it is that makes a good mom. Because I know so many of them. And they are all so different. But there are similarities that unite them all. Giving. Extreme giving. Not slash your wrists and bleed all over the floor or the cross or whatever, but genuine giving spurred on by love. Giving your all. And that looks different family to family. But it's there, always. Parents, not just mom but dad too, giving it all to their family. And not even realizing it.

When we love, when we invest fully, we don't realize how much we've given. We just give. So the night of cereal dinners in front of the tv doesn't matter. If that's all we have to give. We give it and we keep on. But if we can give more, we ought to. Because we've brought these little people into our lives. They didn't ask for our drama and our insecurities. They ask for unconditional, constant love. They ask that we love them with our love languages, which is why our families look different.

I know that I am not a "good mom" because I have my son enrolled in speech therapy. I know I'm not a "good mom" because I drive my kids to sports practices. I know I'm not a good mom because I've read my son's IEP. I know I'm not a good mom because I read to my kids.

I'm just a mom.

There are responsibilities we take on when we embrace motherhood. There are obligations we assume. That we raise our children in a balanced, secure and consistent environment.

So sometimes that means we wear yoga pants all week and our kids are three weeks behind in their haircuts. It means that I don't keep up the blog that I loved doing. Because I've given everything I could to my little army of crazy people who are destroying my home as I type.

It's not about what we do, it's about the love with which we do it.