Mom Fails

It was a week of mom fails...well one of many.  I shoved coins in Graham's pocket as he was getting out for school.  He was supposed to bring 20 little items for Show & Tell.  I didn't even count the coins.  Brady went without a belt.  Neither of them brushed their teeth.  I forgot Brady's medicine three days in a row.

There is no chance of me getting a big head as long as I'm a mom.  So, like, no chance. EVER.  I'm doomed to a life of humility.  Maybe humiliation is the better word.

We watched Benji for our Friday movie night in Mom's bed last night.  We all cried.  The single mom in the movie struggled harder than I do...she was widowed with two kids and no family.  Brady couldn't stop telling me he loved me while we watched.  He got it.  Maybe for the first time he understood the weight that I have.  Though they do have their dad, the weight of parenting typically falls on the mother.  Doctor appointments, dietary restrictions, medicines, vitamins, clothing, extracurricular activities, homework, school obligations, emotional well being, spirituality....all of these things are on my plate.  Even if someone wanted to take them from me, it just wouldn't fly.  Moms are just like that.

Most days, I'm just thankful that my boys have clothes that fit, a roof over their heads, are well fed and rested and aren't completely stinky.  If I do more than these basic things, I try to mentally high five myself.  All moms can use a cheerleader in their head.  Mine screams at me most of the time, but sometimes she's forgiving and encouraging.

Show & Tell and belts aren't always on my list of triumphs.

I just made myself a new post-it note to add to my other list of encouraging mantras.  It reads:  "You're a great momma."

I feel like everywhere I turn, I see evidence that I'm a failure at this role.  I see it in the faces of my parents, my siblings, my friends, the teachers and administration.  But I am most likely reflecting my own feelings about myself on other people.

I feel like a failure every time I get an email from a room mom with all the things we should/could be doing to be involved.  Failure every time my boys bring a personal treat home from one of their classmates.  Failure when we run out of milk.  Failure when we're rushing out the door.

Failure when my boys are sad.

The truth is, there won't be much that happens to them that I don't shoulder the responsibility for.  Oh the joys of motherhood.  It's the height of happiness and the depth of despair all in one word: mother.