The Mother Of The Year Award Goes To...

When I was in early elementary school, I packed my own lunches.  My mom was busy working all kinds of shift work, and my grandmother, well, I actually don't know what the heck she was doing, but she never packed my lunch.  An 8 year old cannot be trusted to make healthy lunch choices.  A typical lunch for me was a thermos full of water, a Tupperware container of marshmallow cream, some graham crackers and a Little Debbie cake.  I wasn't the healthiest second grader in the school, but at lunch time, I was certainly the happiest!  My mom hates that story.  When I was younger, she would practically throw her hand over my mouth and wrestle me to the ground when I recounted it to everyone who would listen (not really, she's crazy at times, but not generally violent).  Over the years, it became a kind of joke between us.  During my freshman year of college, I received a care package from home with a 6 pack of bottled water, a container of marshmallow cream and a box of graham crackers.  Included was a note that said, "Don't ever say I sent you to college without lunch."

So maybe my mom wasn't in the "great" mom category.  Have you also noticed that I have a slight lisp at times?  Just kidding.  I don't have a lisp, and I never got my tongue caught in the beaters...but probably only by the grace of God!  Telling the story of my meager school lunches certainly doesn't paint my mom in the "great" mom category, so let me tell you a different story.

When my first husband left me at 6 months pregnant in the middle of the winter, my world fell apart.  I knew that I would have to raise a child on my own.  I knew that I would have to leave my job, my friends, my own home.  My heart broke for my son who would not have a father in his life on a regular basis.  I was a mess in so many ways, but not once did I worry about how I would get through.  I never gave a second thought to where I would go or how I would support myself and my child.  I knew I would go home.  When I told my mother what had happened, she looked at me and said, "You're coming home, right?"  I never had to ask, and I never had to question her love and support for me or for Jacob.  Of course we were coming home, and of course that's how we would get by - with her guidance.  Now, the time that I lived at home with Jacob wasn't always lovey-dovey.  My mom and I had quite a few major differences of opinion, but even during those battles of will, I never questioned the security of her love for me.  I know so many women who get into fights with their parents and are subsequently kicked out, children too, with no support, nowhere to go, no one to call upon.  I have no idea how that must feel.  I have no idea, because I am blessed with a great mom.  

A super mom, even!  

I think it's really hard for women not to compare themselves to others.   Whether it's appearance or wealth or even motherhood, we tend to be very critical of both ourselves and of others.  I'll bring up the social media point of view again: with Pinterest and Facebook, it's so easy to see all of the awesome ideas for crafts and activities that go above and beyond the parenting 101 crash course that the hospitals don't give you when you give birth to your first baby.   But it goes beyond Pinterest and Facebook.  We compare ourselves both inwardly and outwardly to one another every chance we get.  We are overly critical of ourselves, and we can be equally as critical of others.  When Jake was a newborn, I was in the middle of a divorce.  I had just moved back home to live with my parents.  I was working part time, and going to school full time, driving nearly 600 miles every week.  I was stressed beyond belief and in one of the deepest depressions I have ever known, but my child was happy and well cared for.  I was doing the best I could just to get by day to day, sometimes minute by minute. I didn't have a lot of friends nearby because most of my high school friends had left the area, so I thought it might be good for me to do some "mommy and me" things with Jake.  During my search for a club or activity, I had a conversation with a mom who did not work. I made the comment to the effect of, "I give you a lot of credit for staying home.  I think that would be terribly hard in many ways."  I was sincere then, and I still believe those words today.  I am not a person who could handle staying at home, and I give credit to moms who do.  It's hard to care for kiddos 24/7 with no breaks.  She knew the situation I was in, and instead of saying, "Thank you.  I'm sure it's hard to be a working mom too." She said, "Oh, you can't join our club.  It's only for stay at home moms."  That was the end of the conversation.  No credit to me for what I was doing.  No acknowledgement that I was also trying my hardest to do my best with what my life's circumstances were, just as she was doing for her family.  The conversation made me feel like a total asshole, like the worst mom ever.  How could I sleep at night leaving my baby in the care of strangers?  (Truth be told, I didn't sleep at night, because I Jake didn't sleep through the night until he was over 2 years old.  His wakefulness coupled with finishing homework and leaving the house at the crack of dawn to make it to school in time left me with about 4 hours of broken sleep every night for 2 years.  I was a walking zombie.  It was awesome.)  I wished I could stay at home with him, but I just couldn't.  I worried that I was setting him up for a lifetime of struggles because I was not the mother he needed, but I was stuck.  I was the only income for us.  I didn't have the luxury of a husband, so I did what I had to do and prayed for the best...and stayed away from moms groups from that point on too!

It wasn't until years later when I truly realized that the shame in that conversation did not fall on my shoulders.  The shame was hers.  Shame on her for failing to support another mother, for belittling and demeaning someone who was truly desperate for just the simple pleasure of friendship.  Isn't motherhood hard enough without the criticism of others?  Actually, I don't think the woman I spoke even realized the implications of what she said.  She may not have meant it in the way I took it either.  She may have just been stating a fact.  The club was only for non-working mothers.  I did not qualify.  Nonetheless, it felt like another notch on the belt of imperfect parenting that I put on the day Jacob was born, the belt that I wore cinched way too tightly for way too long.

In recent years, I have become more comfortable with myself, with my parenting style and with where I fit on the spectrum of motherhood.  When it comes to parenting, I am terribly imperfect on many levels.  I am impatient at times and often short tempered.  I get obsessed with organization, and I hate - absolutely hate - being woken in the middle of the night for any reason whatsoever.  I let Andrew ride on the bottom rack of the grocery cart during almost every shopping trip.  It's incredibly poor judgement on my part, but he loves it.

I do not sit with Jacob while he does his homework unless he specifically needs help.  With the exception of the pumpkin Rice Krispy treats, I do not make super cute treats for snack day.  (I had a moment of Martha Stewartdom that quickly passed, thank goodness!) Actually, this last week I completely forgot to take Andrew's snack to school.  I had washed and pulled grapes from the stems, which I thought was going above and beyond, but then promptly left the bag in my fridge, completely unnoticed.  Fail.  I tried to join the PTO when Jake was in first grade.  It wasn't for me.  I volunteered a few times when Jake was in second grade. Also not really for me.  I have not volunteered at all for Andrew.  The second kid really gets the shaft.   But I wouldn't miss a single school production for either child. I have been to every Halloween parade without fail.  Sometimes I let them have cookies for breakfast, and I always bribe them with donuts to get them through Mass.   But I also make a balanced dinner and pack a healthy lunch for them both every day.  There's no Tupperware containers of marshmallow cream for my guys!  No way!

For those moms who are on the PTO and volunteer in the classroom, kudos to you!  In a lot of ways, I am envious of you.  For those moms who hand stitch Halloween costumes, kudos to you!  I can barely sew a button. For those moms who serve Spaghettios for dinner, kudos to you too.  I bet it was a lot less stressful to nuke that sucker for 30 seconds that it was for me to make sweet potato chickpea burgers that no one will eat!  For those of you who are struggling with making everything perfect for your children, please, let it go.

Not all moments are meant to be enjoyed...or perfect.  And trying to make everything just right will do the opposite.  It will make you feel frazzled and inferior, and you will end up leaving your grapes in the fridge anyway!  It's ok to cut corners.  It's ok to be flawed.  In fact, to be well rounded individuals, kiddos need to see that sometimes imperfect isn't a bad thing.  For those of you who have let the quest for perfection go, good for you!  Letting go has allowed me to see the joy in areas where I might not have otherwise taken notice.  And for those of you who are naturally impeccable parents (yes, I believe that it actually does come very naturally to a select few), well, I have to hate you.  No, just kidding.  Kudos to you too.  Maybe you can share some tips for the rest of us June Cleaver wannabes! 

At this point in my life, I know in my heart that my mom raised us the in the best way she knew how, healthy balanced lunch or not,  and that even in our adulthood, she continues to give 100% of herself to us every day. That trait - the selfless giving of oneself to your children - that's the quality that truly makes a good mother.  It's not about packing a healthy lunch every day, making the coolest treats for snack day, volunteering at every event, or making sure every stitch of homework is done correctly.  It's about trying your best, consistently re-evaluating your methods, listening to your children and meeting their needs as much as you can.  It's about setting a good example, even when that example is about how to fix something that was a bad example.   I am proud to say that I am a terribly imperfect mother.  I am not proud of my mistakes, but I am cognizant of them, and I am working every day to better myself for my children.  Today I am grateful for motherhood ~ for my grandmother, who was in so many ways a second mother to me (except when it came to packing my lunch),  for my own mother, who continues to love and support me in more ways than she knows, and for the opportunity to be a mother myself.  Perfection does not reside in flawless parenting, but rather in the mindfulness of the blessing that is parenthood.  It sits quietly in the spaces between the mistakes, in the unending love of a mother's heart.  That's a pretty big blessing, if you ask me!