So recently, I’ve noticed this trend in blogger Mama’s where they’re “real.” Some of them hate being parents. Some of them just admit every day that they are awful mom’s. I’m not sure the purpose of that, but I honestly like/liked it for a while. I’m all for honesty and I think it’s awesome that people are being real about themselves. One blog that I read is devoted to not yelling. On my feed this week I read a post that says, “I didn’t rock motherhood today.” And we all know (or at least everyone who’s anyone who worships G at Momastary like me) that G has her days where she feels defeated.
While contemplating my own failures as a mom over half a slice of totally not whole foods Pizza and a sauce laden face in front of me, I had a ginormous realization.
Carter had pizza sauce all over his face and possibly ears and it had been an awful day. I woke up with little sleep thanks to a semi sickly 9 month old. Seriously, Chandler is only needy when he’s sick, but when he’s needy, he’s NEED-AY! I was in an horrific mood. I didn’t want to be around my kids. Honestly, I didn’t want to be around anyone. I knew that everyone was just waiting on me to bite their head off. I already went on a rant to Matthew about how to load the dishwasher correctly and I’m pretty sure it was only 9:00 am.
I finally decided to take Carter with me anywhere to get out of the house. We decided to go shopping for new shoes for Carter. He was disappointed because we couldn’t buy the $50 bright blue converse that he wanted. I gave him a long speech about being grateful for having shoes.. blah blah blah…. and then opted to eat at Olive Garden. Carter was slightly shocked because I’d been a Real Food Junkie/Nazi for about two weeks as this point. I let him get pizza and I at pasta filled with refined flour and processed cheese. It was grossly delicious.
While we were there, Carter managed to spill his drink, break all of his crayons, cry because I wouldn’t let him get coke, and tell our server that he didn’t like her because she was a girl. I responded to all of these things with anger. Nothing was lifting my spirits because honestly, I just wanted to be in a bad mood. I was tired and suffering and so was everyone else.
Carter didn’t care that I was angry. He was so excited about his pizza! An older woman stopped by our table and spoke with Carter…. and Carter’s 1 lb of marinara face sauce. The instant that she stopped, I felt judged. I immediately listed all the reasons that I was a horrible mother, including the fact that Carter’s shoes were too small and I am too cheap to pay $50 for the ones he really wants. Then, she said something really important. I don’t remember what she talked to Carter about, but at some point she looked at me and said, “That’s a happy boy.” I looked over at Carter’s ginormous pizza sauce grin and smiled. Then she continued, “Good Job, Mom!”
Instant realization: Carter is happy. Chandler is happy. I make happy children and children happy. That is enough.
Who is this Mother of the Year that we use as a standard, because I think she should get booted! Seriously, I beat myself up every day because Carter eats cold fruit for breakfast because I’m too exhausted at 7:00 am to cook him anything warm. No mother is perfect. Moms who actually do cook breakfast, probably don’t give their kids baths. Moms who give their kids baths twice a day, probably let them stay up all night. Or eat sugar all the time. Or watch PG-13 movies. Mother of the Year shouldn’t be the standard, Happy Kid of the Year should. Who is the Mother of the Year? WHO? I want to know. I bet her kid’s aren’t happy, but guess what, mine are.
Despite the fact that Carter stayed up until 11:30 last night because I let him take a nap at 4:00. Despite the fact that Carter’s shoes are from Marshall’s for $29 because I’m a cheap-o. Despite the fact that Chandler is super skinny and tall and the doctor sometimes judges me about that. Despite all of the obstacles we face as a family, I am the best mom ever to Carter and Chandler. I bet they wouldn’t trade me for Mother of the Year. They like pizza too much.
Here’s sickly Chandler’s grumpy face.
And here are Carter and my grumpy faces.
And here’s Carter riding on the snail that I’m pretty sure said “Do Not Ride” or something like that on the sign. I know, I know, but look at his happy face.
Sorry for the bad quality, but you have to snap fast when you’re breaking the rules. Look at those adorable shoes. Best Mom Ever right here!