The Mama I’m Not

I am writing this blog from the quiet of my couch on Mother’s Day. Quiet is such a luxury right now as we are officially two months into the COVID-19 quarantine. Honestly, it’s so rare these days that I don’t really know what to do when it happens. Do I read my book? Do I clean the house? Do I take a nap? Do I literally just sit and listen to the quiet? My family, like so many others, has spent the last couple of months at home, together, and while I love being “together,” I’m also ready to…..er…..not be together quite so much. If I’ve learned anything during this strange time it’s that absence truly does make the heart grow fonder.

And yet, when I think back to the moments of my life that defined me and shaped me the most – it wasn’t usually moments when things were going really well. It was times when I was pushed beyond what I thought I could handle. Motherhood is filled with those moments – the first few months where you’re not sure if you’ll survive another day without sleep; the first time your kid gets badly hurt or really sick and you have to make decisions about what to do; when you have to make a decision about childcare. It’s why motherhood is such a defining experience – we constantly face challenges that force us to examine who we are and also, sometimes, who we’re not.

When this whole pandemic started, I did what every sane mother did. I grasped at any stray comfort from normal life that I could find – one of which is social media. The idea of a mandated “stay at home” order felt very isolating and I needed to know how others were handling this uncharted time. Instead of comfort, what I found was a bombardment of “ideas” and “ways to make this time more engaging for your child.” People were posting pictures of their children making nature preserves out of shoeboxes. Church was sending home videos for the kids to watch. Ellie’s school was emailing lesson plans and Zoom meetings. The neighborhood community center encouraged us to decorate our doors and hide teddy bears in the windows. Commercials on T.V. sent messages of hope – that we’re all in this together and that we should feel so privileged to have this special time at home with our families.

I’m going to stop for a second and say that the effort and motivation behind all of this is pure and beautiful and I feel incredibly thankful for friends who have reached out and for a community who wants to make this fun. But it very quickly felt suffocating. I began to feel “lesser than” because my reality didn’t look at all like those pictures. With two working parents and two children under the age of 5, my days were literally a success if everyone was fed, clothed, and living by the end of the day. About two weeks into this ordeal, I reached a breaking point. I honestly cannot remember the last time this happened to me. If you know me, you know that I’m a pretty chill person who doesn’t get rattled easily, but this thing sort of broke me. I started crying every day, yelling at my kids for no reason, and feeling like I was failing at my job. I needed to walk away for a minute. So, I packed a week’s worth of clothes, loaded the kids into the van, and headed to the place where I knew I could find a bit of peace – home. I spent the week watching my kids play in the open air, drinking coffee with my sister on the porch, talking to my own mama, and thinking a lot about who I am as a mom and perhaps more importantly, who I’m not.

Like many, I have this idea in my mind of what a great mom looks like. She’s put together, but doesn’t look like she tries too hard. Her art supply cabinet is perfectly organized with everything from glitter to markers that actually work. When she takes her kids to the park, she plays tag or soccer with them instead of sipping her coffee on the bench. She only feeds her kids organic and never lets them watch more than an hour of television a day. Even though I know this mom doesn’t actually exist, in my mind she does and I spend so much time and energy trying to achieve this ideal and feeling guilty when I fall short that I completely lose sight of the beautiful giftings that God has given to me.

In her beautiful masterpiece, Daring Greatly, Brene Brown says,

“Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”

Like most people, mamas especially, I live in fear that I somehow won’t measure up or that I’ll fail my children if I don’t meet the unrealistic expectations I set for myself. I lose sight of what really matters. Children need to feel love. That’s it. They don’t need intricate art projects or fancy vacations or expensive toys. Those things are nice, but they aren’t the point. I too often forget that God knew me before He formed me and that before I was born He set me apart. I forget that He knows my children and gave them to me on purpose. And I forget that my shortfalls and weaknesses are there for a reason – so that I won’t lean on my own understanding, but would fall on my knees and ask for help from above. God does not measure me against these pictures of the perfect mother that I’ve painted in my mind, so why do I?

Today was a beautiful day, but in late afternoon, it stormed. We woke Owen up from his nap just as the storm clouds were parting and the sun began to shine. Owen wanted so badly to go outside, but I kept insisting that it was too wet and we shouldn’t. Then I thought about it – why not just let them go outside and jump in puddles? So I put them in some old clothes, threw some waterproof shoes on them and took them out to play. The pure joy in their giggles as they competed to make the biggest splash was the best Mother’s Day present I could ask for.

I’m not the kind of mama who organizes nature hikes. I’m not the kind of mama who does organized crafts with her kids or who plants avocado seeds to see what happens. I’m not always great at schedules and I can’t remember the last time Ellie let me brush her hair.

But I am the kind of mama who lets her kids jump in puddles after a rain storm.

I’m working on being okay with all the things I’m not and acknowledging that my kids don’t need a perfect mama, they just need their mama.