I hate
you but I also love you.
On
good days, I get inspiration and motivation.
I feel great as a person, a mother, and a wife. It’s a glorious day. I get little resistance from the Radicals to
get up, get ready, and be out the door on time.
I come home and work, do some laundry, and start my beef roast. Hey, I even get all domestic and snip some
rosemary from my garden to throw in the slow cooker. I get more work done until it’s time to pack
up the Radicals karate stuff and tidy up the house. I pick them up and off to practice we
go. Radical 1 & 2 do their karate
thing while I keep Radical 3 busy for an hour.
Practice is done, I load them up in the car, and we’re off. The drive home is good. Little bickering, story-telling, and
laughter. Once home, they ride their
bikes for a ½ hour while I finish up dinner.
They come in and do their homework and then bathe. We eat dinner while they share about their
day. There’s some TV watching until it’s
time for bed. Lights out. Sweet dreams, my darlings.
On
those days, I feel like a great mom.
Days like these gets my momentum going.
I have all these plans and all will be well. With butterflies and rainbows. And sometimes on these days, I’m doomed to
become too inspired and motivated from the wrong posts and become unrealistic.
People
who portray butterflies and rainbows all the time are fucking liars. Shit is bound to happen. You wake up on the wrong side of the
bed. There may be too much things going
on that sends you into a rage or, in my case, a meltdown. People are dicks. And then I become unmotivated and good for
nothing.
On bad
days, I compare myself to everyone. Lately, because my clothes are a bit
snug, I compare myself to the ‘you might as well be naked’ posts. You know the ones…all you see are boobs and
ass. Then my thinking becomes erratic and
goes something like this:
I wish I had a boob job then my
body will be more proportioned; never mind eff that because if God wanted me to
have boobs he would’ve given me boobs; who needs boobs anyway; I know, I’ll
start exercising tomorrow and then I’ll go on a diet; the word diet makes me
feel suffocated like I can’t eat crap food ever again; no I won’t diet, I’ll
eat better; I better do it quick before the Hubs leaves me for eye candy; but
if he loves me then he’ll love me with love handles and all; but I feel so
sluggish and my clothes don’t fit; okay I’ll start exercising and eating better
tomorrow; why can’t I just love myself; eff you guys…I ain’t got nobody to
impress.
Then I
turn to the Hubs and ask “honey, will you still love me if I get a lot of
cellulite and start growing a fupa?” And
then I wallow in my ridiculousness and eat all the candy while watching Charmed
until 1am which is not a good idea because I’m supposed to start exercising
tomorrow, err, today.
The I
start to compare myself to other moms.
Ah, again we come back to the posts about portraying butterflies and
rainbows! The ones (plural because that’s
every.other.post) where little Mary Goodness is smiling that little cute smile
in her dazzling princess dress while the caption reads something that makes me
want to gag because she’s always so perfect.
So much so that I must really suck at being a mom.
Let me
be clear – I’m all for parents posting about their sweet, sweet child(ren) but
all the time? Do they do no wrong? Do you not ever lose your shit? Ever?
Does your sweet child ever morph into demon child like mine? I may post cute pictures of the Radicals but
the caption never reads perfect and even if sounds perfect just keep reading
until you get to the hashtags. BOOM. Real, raw, honest.
Or the
ones where the mom is always put together.
Shoot, I claim victory if my teeth hair is brushed. I barely have
the motivation to take a shower. I have
to argue with myself why cleanliness is important.
Food,
snacks, and lunches. This in itself
doesn’t bother me. What makes me crazy
is the PB&J turned into a cute bear or apples and peanut butter turned into
a snail. It’s cute and all but I don’t have
the time which, in my wonky thoughts, translates into get off your ass and make the time you crappy mom. Sometimes I have to remind myself to make
dinner or else CPS may come knocking at my door. We’ve been acquainted so you can stop cringing
now.
I
still have no freaking idea what I’m doing.
They know that I love them without having to transform a snack into a
Power Ranger. The Radicals are alive and
that has to count for something right? A
great mind once told me “the fact that you’re even questioning if you’re a
great mother makes you a great mother” and as creepy and messed-up as that
sounds, I find comfort in that.
Am I the only one who thinks like this?
I
could go on and on but I’ll spare your eyeballs. I hate social media when I’m on the crazy
train. I love it when I’m either not or
just boarding the damn train.
I find
balance, most times.
Jenn
P.S.
It’s good to be back. Stay tuned for
more…
