A day with the spawn sometimes goes a little something like this.
- Get out of bed and wake him up
- Get ready for work; wake him up again
- Take the dog out for his morning lawn-watering and fertilizing; come back to find him STILL in bed
- Take a deep, meditative breath; pull the blankets off him, and tell him to get out of bed immediately
- Roll eyes at groaned response of, “I’m up, Mommy!” (Yeah, clearly you’re not.)
- Go to kitchen to pack lunches; halfway through make sure spawn is actually getting ready
- Find spawn sitting on the bed playing with his Lego
- Scream – loudly – in my mind, several times
- Remind him of the time and tell him to get moving or he won’t have time to feed
- Finish packing lunches, feed furry child, check on human child
- Jig with joy when I see he’s nearly ready to go
- Toss him his shoes and yell, “Put them on!” while prepping a bowl of cereal
- Get my work bag ready, get his school bag ready, and load up the car
- Chow down my breakfast and, while chewing, put out seed and nuts for the wildlife
- Finish breakfast, wash my dishes, check on the spawn
- Determine the spawn has morphed into a child zombie – he has had two bites of his food, and is chewing in slow motion
- Rub face, say a silent prayer for strength, and remind him we must leave in a few minutes
- Dog proof the house – cuz yeah, pooch likes to try to eat EVERYTHING – and grab purse and keys
- When child zombie finishes (five minutes late), throw dishes in the sink and run out the door
Guys? Guys?
This is just my morning. I mean, he’s not even at school yet. Factor in an hour-long commute, a crazy-busy-insane-I-wanna-die day, and the hour commute back, how do you think I’m doing at this point? Sane? Energetic? You’re somewhat right. I’m surviving, hanging on by a few worn threads.
But wait, there’s more! I still need to rush home after school pick up, take out the dog (his poor little legs are crossed he has to pee so bad!), feed said puppy, get the kid a healthy snack pre-karate, get him to the dojo, somewhere in there remind him to practice guitar, and his reading, and his French, and do his homework, and take out the dog again, oh yeah and make dinner. If I’m lucky, I squeeze a walk or a workout in, and you know … write a couple words.
Sometimes, on days like this, I don’t have the energy to be a Betty Crocker Mommy. Sometimes I don’t make the roast chicken, or the mashed potatoes, or the corn on the cob. Sometimes, when I’m exhausted, at wit’s end, and have a stress headache, the kid gets a bowl of Cheerios and a yogurt tube for dinner.
Some of you may be gasping in horror, and you know what?
That’s okay.
I’m a good mom. My child is fed, cared for, nurtured, and loved beyond any measure. He is quick to laugh and make others laugh, and everyone that has ever met him thinks he’s a doll with incredible smarts and a great heart. He’s kind and generous, and at times mature past his years. If he gets cereal for dinner now and again, it’s certainly not the end of the world. Lord knows it’s better than stopping at McDoo’s for a double cheeseburger, so there’s a win.
There was a time I compared myself to so many moms out there – with the seemingly perfect children and perfect lives, perfect dinners and frilled aprons – and I kept wondering how I’d failed so badly. Hell, there are occasions I can’t even make a decent meal for dinner! I’d ask myself, what am I doing wrong?
The answer is nothing. I was – and am – doing nothing wrong. Not just me, but you … and you … we’re allowed to sit back and breathe and chow down on some Lucky Charms for dinner with our kids, sitting on the couch, watching garbage television. We’re allowed to pack the same lunch two days in a row because we didn’t have the time or energy to prep anything new the night prior. I promise if this happens on occasion our kids won’t love us any less. Child services will not be called. They will not grow up to be monsters. It’s okay.
We’re allowed to do the best we can.
And if the best we can means a bowl of cereal and a lot of love, then the best we can is perfect.
Cheerio! 
I agree