One Thing

Back before I had kids, I just knew I would be a great mom. I’d be so patient and always kind and loving. I’d do all kinds of awesome things with my kids, like decorating for each season/holiday with homemade crafts we’d done right at our own kitchen table.

Motherhood would transform me into an incredible cook, someone who can think of amazing things for each meal, things that kids love but that are so very, very good for them. My kids wouldn’t have fish sticks and Kraft macaroni and cheese for dinner. No way. They’d grow up eating things that are good for them like vegetables and whole grains and would have this wonderful relationship with food.

The television would be viewed sparingly (ha, this from the woman who can think of something to watch every single of the night of the week and we don’t even have cable/dish/satellite). My kids would read or play board games or puzzles. They’d enjoy quiet time and wouldn’t be whiny or demanding because their needs would be met even as I gently taught them that they can’t always get exactly what they want right when they want it.

All this was before I had kids.

Now? I yell. And I threaten, and I cook fish sticks and mac and cheese once a week.

And the television? It’s on. A lot. I’m not proud of this.

But I’m so very human. And I get tired and sometimes, I just want to cook those fish sticks and that macaroni and cheese in peace, without someone standing right behind me literally kissing my butt. So I turn on the television to get five minutes of alone time in the kitchen while I make a sub-par meal and pray that it’s all good enough, at least for today.

Back when I was imagining those sweet, soft-spoken, polite kids with their perfect mother, I never once imagined myself working outside the home as I gently raised these amazing children.

And that’s what gets me most of the time. The fact that I have to leave the house each morning as they’re leaving for school. The fact that my time with the girls is also the only time I have to keep the house livable, keep the laundry washed, dried and put away. It’s the only time I have to buy groceries and heck, it’s the only time I have to spend with my husband.

So I’m pulled in all these directions and it leaves me tired and cranky and so far removed from that patient, loving mom I imagined myself to be back before I had kids.

I’m not playing the pain/stress Olympics here. I’m not saying that I think stay-at-home moms have it easier. Nor am I saying that stay-at-home mothers are better parents. I know that neither of those statements are necessarily true. We all have our stresses, our pains. We all have our crosses to bear.

But I do believe that I would be a better mother if I were able to stay home. I’d be a better wife, I’d be a better homemaker. It’s a matter of time. If I didn’t have to be away from home for forty plus hours a week, I’d get so much more done.

The lovely Tiffany did a post a week or so titled, “Ten Things I’d Do If I Didn’t Work.” She came up with some awesome things.

There’s just one for me. I’d be a better mother.