What kind of mother I really am.
Not hands on enough.
Not engaged enough.
On our way to the zoo last week one of the kids said, “We have five kids.” And another child said, “Six, if you count Daddy.” And there were giggles all around. Then the first child one-upped the second with, “Seven, if you count Mama.” To which the second child said, “Yeah, but she’s not the right kind of kid.”
I’m not lovey enough.
I adore them. But not to their faces enough.
I waited in the doctor’s office with two of my children today. The older child’s talking had been incessant with the boredom we were stewing in and I was hungry, headachey, and needing to pee. I finally shushed him and told him that I enjoyed talking with him, but that I didn’t want to hear him making noise just for the sake of noise-making. He quieted for a few minutes. I picked up a magazine to try to engage him in something with me and we looked at upscale photos of families in posh apartments with impeccable decorating. Things that I would desire in my own home if life were different. I noted to my son that the mothers and children looked unhappy, posed all seriously. I then asked him if we were happy. To which he replied somewhat flippantly, “I don’t know.”
Is that the answer of a six year old boy when he’s bored, having to see a doctor, and hasn’t had lunch yet? Or is it the answer of a child that truly isn’t happy?
Do they know how I feel about them?
How can they when I’m constantly barking orders to clean this, quiet down, listen up, quit fidgeting, hurry along?
This is not the mother I wanted to be.
I was going to be different.
I was going to be carefree and wild and… and… not this.
Tonight as I was readying my bed for us, sweeping out crumbs, picking up a “secret garden key”, moving a robot, turning the covers back – I smiled – sweet reminders of children at play. I passed a shelf with 3 small toy animals perfectly positioned by my daughter – it’s her new “decorating” phase. I pointed them out to my husband and cherished the moment. Without her. She’s sleeping now and doesn’t know the joy it brought to me. Sure, I’ll tell her in the morning, but I saw her playing with them tonight, and yet had my busy-ness to go about. Until the house was quiet and my brain was calm and I noticed them. Without her.
Do they know?
Am I missing it everyday for all the dailyness?
You can skip the dishes when you have 2 children. You can resolve to do the laundry tomorrow when you have olders who can pick up the slack. What about when they’re all so very little still? And there are so many of them? Someone must cook. Someone must clean. Someone must do.
I wanted to be the fun mom.
But there are heavy pregnancies and babies to tend, there are lessons to learn and manners to teach.
And lately I feel as though I’m not enough.
I wonder how other moms do it.
How do you have enough time and get it all done?
How do you do it with no guilt?
I was called a “breeder” last week and saw the word “spawn” in reference to a family with many children who were acting up. I saw the cover of People magazine and felt sorry for the Duggars.
Why are people angry about the number of children people have?
Why do we live in a country where the concept of children is more revered than the children themselves?
Why do I feel like I’m carving out a path that hasn’t been driven before? Where are the wise older women who’ve worn well the road of many small children?
Once, at the grocery store my husband took the children out to the van while I paid with just the infant in tow. There was a mom having trouble ahead of me. And between us was a mom, dad, and child. They were perturbed. The woman was taking up way too much time. “Ridiculous!”, they snarled to me as though I were in on the joke with them. I wasn’t. I felt bad for the mom ahead of us and thought evil thoughts at the people for judging her. Me, in my self-righteousness wouldn’t judge someone. Except..
I’m quick to tell others to judge not, but hold a special spot of indignation for those who don’t have to scratch out their existence quite like we do, for those who seemingly haven’t walked in my precious shoes. And yet, compared to a huge number of people in the world we are rich beyond measure. “Judge not” rings in my ears alot lately. I feel as though it may be my plank.
I was at a mega pet store recently and we were oohing and aahing over the pets. With no intention to buy, it’s just one of our go to town, fun things we do sometimes. A woman came by and said with a sideways grin, “It’s kind of like the zoo, except you have to spend no money, huh.” And I laughed and agreed. And then looked twice at her and realized I was not in on the joke, I was the joke.
Where is the mom I wanted to be?
Why don’t I know how to play?
Where is my imagination?
Do others get to the end of their day and feel guilt? Do they promise themselves tomorrow will be different, pray, study His ways, and then get to the end of another night and wonder what happened?
Where are the people who have it all together? Do they offer up advice on how they’re doing it?
And would I listen if they did?
Or just harbor judgement for them?
