Happy Guilt Day

Every year around this time, my husband and I have some variation of this conversation:

"Why are you laying on the kitchen floor?" He asks.

"Because I'm a horrible mother," I whine. Geez, isn't that obvious?

"Okay." He shrugs and steps over me to get a glass of Dr. Pepper.

Okay?  Okay?  What! "Did you even hear what I said?"

He sighs and stares down at me.  I can see he's trying to figure out a way to get out of this conversation but too bad.  For better or for worse, buddy.  "Why are you a horrible mother?"

"Because I just am.  I yell too much.  I mean, you should have seen me this morning getting the kids ready.  I was awful.  The house is always a mess.  I forget to do important stuff like sign permission slips." I throw an arm over my eyes dramatically.  "I make hot dogs way too often for dinner.  We don't drink organic milk all the time.  I lost all of their social security cards somewhere in this house and can't find them."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," he replies and puts a bag of popcorn in the microwave.  Sometimes it's really annoying to be married to a trained hospital chaplain.  They have phrases they are trained to use in crisis situations which this clearly is. But that also means this was a canned response for sure. 

"Are you listening to me?" I demand.

He looks at me, his blue eyes wide, a picture of sincerity.  "Yes, I'm listening to you.  You're a great mom. Why are you stressing out about this?"

I glare at him, which is hard because the florescent lights on the ceiling are making it difficult to keep my eyes open. "Why do you think?"

Maybe it's my tone of voice or maybe something clicks because suddenly, he seems to understand.  "Oh, no . . . " he begins.  "Not again."

"Yes, again.  And I don't want you to buy me a single thing.  I don't deserve anything.  I'm not fit to be anyone's mother, let alone be celebrated." I say that last word on a half-sob.

The microwave beeps but he ignores it to stare down at me.  "Mother's Day," he says grimly.

All I can do is nod.

That might be a slightly dramatic recreation.  (I mean, there is no way I'd lay down on my kitchen floor.  I know how often I mop).  But the sentiment is there.  Mother's Day should be renamed Guilt Day.

As I watch the Olympic mom commercials and the Hallmark commercials and see all the sweet gifts jewelry stores are pedaling, I can't help getting, well, discouraged.  I don't feel like one of those smiling, happy moms with smiling, happy kids.  I know I'm not a terrible mom but I have faults.  Lots and lots of faults.  And Mother's Day forces me to stare those faults in the eye.  It's not pretty.

I want to be a better mom, really I do.  I try, really I do.  But it always seems like I'm failing someone somewhere.  It's like trying to juggle with one arm while you're nursing a baby and cooking dinner--something's going to fall and you really hope it isn't the baby.

Maybe I'm the only mom that seems plagued by guilt.  When I taught, I felt guilty for not being with my kiddos (and taking care of other people's kiddos all day instead).  Now that I don't work, I'm worried that I'm not helping our family enough financially.  I feel guilty because we can't afford piano lessons or drum lessons (or earplugs if either of those two things did happen).  I feel guilty for not spending more one on one time with each child.  I feel guilty because the boys share a room and that we'll never live in a house big enough for them to each have their own.  I feel guilty because we don't go on big vacations.  I feel guilty for my short temper and big voice. 

The list goes on and on and on.  I even feel guilty for things that aren't in my control.

The truth is that I'll never be the kind of mom I thought I would be.  But you know what?  I also don't have the kids I thought I would have either.  Motherhood is nothing like I imagined it would be and there's no way I could have prepared for it.  It's better, worse, and harder, all at once. Even when I think I have finally figured out something really important, everything changes. The kids get older, go through a different stage of development, grow, talk back, become little people with opinions.  I swear, there are some weeks when my children wake up different than they were when I put them to bed the night before.

The worst thing about my mommy guilt is that it makes me focus on me. That completely misses the point of being a mom.  My job is to grow up these little people.  While I'm busy worrying about my inadequacies,  I'm missing out on just being in the moment and being a mom. Yes, I make mistakes, past, present, and future.  But then I have to apologize to myself, to my kids, to my husband, to God, and I have to move on.  My children don't want a stressed out, crazy mom who is trying to do it all.  Would extra swim lessons, homemade cupcakes with candy molded Minecraft characters, and Pinterest birthday extravagenzas be nice?  Sure, they'd love them.  But I also know in my heart that the kiddie pool in the backyard, store bought cupcakes, and a family birthday dinner are okay. 

It's okay!

Over the weekend, I found this questionnaire that Ben did in preschool. Each child was asked questions about their moms and their answers were presented to us at a Mother's Day Tea.  One of the questions was, "What is your mom really good at?"

Do you know Ben's answer was?  Hugs. I like her hugs the best.

Hugs, people!  Not organic, gluten-free dinners.  Not dance lessons and soccer games.  Not fancy Disney vacations and huge birthday celebrations. Just plain old hugs from mom.

My new strategy this year, as Mother's Day approaches, when I'm feeling guilty over not being enough?  I'm going to hunt down one of my children (there are a lot of them so it shouldn't be hard) and I'm going to hug the crap out of them and I'm going to remember that I get to be the mom to this kid in my arms.

That, mamas, is more than enough.