Observations of an Amateur Housewife

One Of Those Days June 2009

I round the corner of the kitchen counter bar, and I feel a slimy squish under my foot–the banana that I JUST cut up for Jackson is now ground into the carpet. Nice. “Na-na! Na-na!” Jackson is asking for more banana. Why, so he can throw more on the cheerio-covered floor? No way, Bud! My patience is thinning rapidly. I’ve been trying to get the floor swept and vacuumed for the last hour with no luck and now I have to clean up gross banana first.

 On my right, the kitchen is full of incompletes–a cold, half-gone mug of coffee, a sink with one side empty and one piled up, the fridge hanging open because I ran over to stop Jackson from crawling on the counter, the mirror on the wall reflecting my damp and now frizzy hair hanging in my eyes, and a freshly-swept pile of dirt and food spreading itself back out across the floor.

 On my left, the living room is in chaos–slipcovers hanging off the furniture; books all over the floor; toy kitchen and all its contents knocked over; dvds piled up all around and on on top of the entertainment center (I hate that!); a cup of water, given to Lily only minutes before, is now on its side in a big soggy spot; the vacuum waiting patiently in the middle of everything. My 900 sq. foot apartment is caving in on me! And all I see outside are more blasted clouds, clouds, clouds!

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That was at 9:00 this morning , and it has been “one of those days”.

 At moments like these, it is difficult to see the joy of motherhood. Now, here is the spot where I am supposed to start writing about all the blessings and miracles and rainbows that make it all so worthwhile. And it is worthwhile. And there are blessings, and miracles, and rainbows even. We all know it’s worth it. But sometimes, you just have a bad morning. Sometimes, you just DON’T want to hear someone say, “Enjoy it while you can, the years go too fast!”  

 How many times do we just feel like running out the door screaming, and then hear this little voice of guilt inside saying, “You’re such a bad mom! Other moms appreciate their precious little cherubs, why don’t you?” And you don’t really want to share it with anyone, either. It’s like once you become a mother, you join this club where the club members feel this strange compulsion to show each other what an orderly, sunny life they live. Not in a mean or judgmental way, but in a way where nobody wants to admit that their house gets messy, or that their kids throw food on the floor and and try to kill each other, or that sometimes you just wonder, “Why on EARTH did God think I was cut out for this job???!!!”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               As I cleaned the grilled cheese out of my son’s hair this afternoon, and watched my daughter purposely pour an entire bottle of water out on the floor, I thought, “I should be laughing at this. A good mom would laugh, or take a picture, or something.” So I took a picture. But it wasn’t funny!  It probably will be later, but it wasn’t then.

So on days like this, instead of feeling guilty and unworthy of motherhood, how about we all leave the “Super-Mom Club”, and join the “I’m-not-perfect-but-I-try-hard” support group? Because we’re not perfect moms. Nobody is or ever was. Sometimes being a mom stinks (literally, lol). And I really think it’s okay to admit that.