I am not super mom. My mom was a super mom, though. Here’s why:
She raised twins, always put our toys away at the end of the day, took us outside to play, cooked an amazing meal from scratch (that most of the time I refused to eat–perhaps she should do a guest post on how she dealt with her picky eater) every night.
My mom worked, but she worked from the home and was (and still is) her own boss, giving her the ability to always be around.
My mom is a wildly talented artist who would scribble a drawing on our brown-bagged lunches that would make Picasso jealous.
I think back on my childhood and I realize I’m not my mother. And there are times that makes me sad and feel really deficient.
My house is a filthy mess. I don’t put toys away unless someone is coming over. My husband and I are both borderline hoarders and the clutter often makes me cringe.
I rarely cook a meal from scratch and there are many days Mason doesn’t eat a vegetable.
Some days I’m too tired to take Mason outside to play. He doesn’t get nearly as much interaction with other children as he should.
I’m a horrible artist.
I work outside of the home, and when I get back I’m so exhausted that I don’t have it in me to be fun.
But, taking all that into consideration, I realized this week that I don’t have to be my mom for my child to have wonderful childhood memories like I did.
I don’t have to be super mom. I just have to be the best mom that I can be. And, if one day I’m not so great, there’s always tomorrow.
Take note: The sun is totally in his eyes and I didn’t even realize.