July 29, 2010

I'm not SuperMom

When I was pregnant with my first child, I envisioned baking cookies in matching aprons while butterflies danced outside our kitchen window. There would never be television, and every moment would be special. Then she was born.

I love all three of my children with every ounce of my body, but we've baked cookies once. Today we're making cupcakes because the house is clean, it's raining, and we're bored. I have yet to see a damn butterfly outside my window. Hornets, yes.

It's all relative, though. When the kids are fighting and I'm ready to dive headfirst into a bottle of Scotch, I think of how sucky the silence is when they're gone. When I hear the oldest reading a story to her brother after he's shoved her around all day, it's worth it. When the baby toddles up like a little drunken sailor with crusted cheerios in her hair and smiles, I can forget the previous 6 hours of screaming because I won't let her play with kitchen knives. And, yes, when we clamber up on the couch to watch the "banned" television and I have some part of each of their three bodies strewn across me, I'm grateful.

Every moment can't be a "moment." I can't helicopter around waiting to see some interest I can foster into creative genius. There friggin laundry to do! I'm sometimes jealous of those moms who never have roots, always wear make-up, and who can do it all with their matching tennis bags and monogrammed outfits. It ain't me, but that's cool. My kids think I totally rock.

No comments:

Post a Comment