The past few weeks have been a little rough. While Jack’s transition to preschool has gone surprisingly well, he seems to be going through a clingy phase that rears it’s head after nap time. He won’t play by himself, he wants to be held, he clings to my legs or pushes me away from the counter while I try to get him a snack.
Add to that, that Bailey has been extra needy, wanting to play fetch the moment I sit down to play with Jack. Or wanting to go out every 20 minutes even in the below freezing temperatures.
By the end of the day I’m not thrilled with the mom that I am. I never feel like I am good enough at this job.
And I find myself thinking about my mom. Mostly because when the day doesn’t go well I usually call her up and we do something and it makes things better. But she’s in Florida for the winter so escape is not an option.
I tend to think it must have been easier to be a SAHM when my mom was one. She had lots of friends and neighbors who were home most days.
And she didn’t parent in the shadow of magazines, talk shows and Pinterest constantly telling her how to do her job. Telling her what is best for her child or making her feel bad for not being creative and crafty.
When I think back on my childhood I don’t remember my mom playing with us all the time. I remember her cooking dinner and doing laundry. I remember her watching soap operas and drinking hot coffee and taking showers.
I remember watching TV and playing She-Ra alone in my basement. And I don’t remember her feeling bad about it. And I don’t think she did.
My mom is very straight forward. The laundry has to get done, dinner has to be made, mom has to shower. She didn’t feel guilty about not sitting on the floor playing kitchen all afternoon. Because it didn’t make sense.
She did what had to be done and still found time for some play time. She didn’t worry about how much TV we watched or if we had made a holiday appropriate hand craft.
I don’t ever remember her stressing over the fact that we didn’t eat green veggies, she simply stopped serving them.
And she didn’t beat herself up about feeding us frozen pizza on occasion because we ate what we liked.
She didn’t endlessly question herself, it’s just not who she is. She believes that mom knows best.
She didn’t let other peoples voices get in her head.
I said to her recently that I had read that you don’t make up sleep that you lose. She replied, “sometimes you have to decide what you believe”.
So I’ve decided to start parenting more like my mom. To stop defining myself by what I see on Pinterest or Facebook. To stop worrying that my son watches too much TV or doesn’t eat green vegetables. I’m going to stop feeling guilty about drinking hot coffee or finishing the laundry or not sitting on the floor for 8 hours a day.
Because what I remember most about my childhood is love and a sense of security and comfort that came from and still comes from being with my mom. What I remember is most is my mom being there.
And I think these things are important.
I’m deciding what I believe and I believe that my good enough, is enough.