I saw this post in my facebook feed today and it was exactly what I needed to hear. I suffer from perfectmomitis. It’s a pretty epidemic infection if ever I saw one. Sure I have the same pressures as most moms fueled by pinterest and blogs and streams of photos on facebook making me feel as if I’m some how failing. Sure I aspire to be the flax baring woman written of in Proverbs 31, but smedays I feel like that’s unattainable. That woman sowing and reaping she gets to climb into bed at night and know her helpmeet has done his share and is there for her too.
The only thing mor tiring than trying to be super mom is also trying to be super dad. In my day it feels as if it’s not enough to manage the chore list and prep the meals, check homework and cart kids to appointments. Sure my kids are happy, healthy, clothed and fed, but that’s just the mommy part of it. Then I have to show them how to change the oil and check their tires, how to shoot a gun, and catch a pop fly. As my oldest enters his teens I wonder about shaving and other manly things. All of this while working 10 plus hours a day to provide for their basic needs and without much affirmation or appreciation. My boys are polite they always say thank you for things “thanks for dinner”, “help me tie my shoe…thanks mom”, in moments of ludidity man I married will sometimes comment on how much I do, but it’s not as if he thinks I have any redeeming qualities. He’s so blinded by hatred I could be sainted and he’d still think I was pure evil.
Then I’m left battling the tides of perceived failure. Yes, I know that I was a pretty great wife and I was getting better as I continued my walk of faith. I know that if it weren’t for injuries we’d still have our cozy little life, but it doesn’t stop the “crazy” from sinking in sometimes. The thoughts of if I were skinnier, if I made the bed everyday, if I had dinner waiting instead of holding out so I could cook with him, if I had quit my job when he asked, if I hadn’t been so hormonal and kept it together better when he said he was leaving, if, if… But we can if ourselves to death and it’s far better for our sanity to seek the truth.
I sometimes feel as though my kids suffer because others think they were born to the wrong mom and a very dear friend told me this week “they don’t have the wrong mom they have the wrong dad”. It sometimes feels that way too. I believe they have the right dad who keeps making the wrong choices and unfortunately no one in his life is willing to say “hey dude what is wrong with you. So what if you think Sam is a witch, maybe she is, but all the more reason you need to do your part to smash through every road block and prove to your boys you love them and they’re a priority.” So in some ways the boys suffer because of that hatred that can’t be squelched.
I scrambled this morning; boys to school and then runnig through the house to tackle anything on my to do list before taking Turkey to speech therapy. I was frustrated that I let my son go to youth group last night and then he failed to finish his dishes chore; adding breakfast dishes to the sinkful. I sighed as Bean tried to eat crumbs from the pile as I swept. I looked at the pile of orders needing to be to their homes before Christmas and wondered if I’d be able to finish the gifts for my own children. I find myself on my knees asking for the ability to do it all and I’m answered with ”
