I Am Not a Super-Mom

Sigh, yes it is true. Is it terrible that I'm okay with that?

-I lose patience with my kids on a multiple-times-daily basis.
-I find myself guilty of doing things I've told my kids not to do.
-I make up nicknames for my kids that highlight some of their more obnoxious attributes, such as Demandy-Dany, Cont-Rory, and Finnicky.
-I rarely make them a hot breakfast before school.
-Our Valentines are never homemade. Same goes for Halloween costumes.
-Compliments don't always flow generously from my lips to their ears.
-Did I mention the patience thing?
-I hate Playdoh
-I really don't like cooking with my kids; I know it's supposed to be great to teach them alongside you, but it's hard for me to be "patient" when I know I can do it faster. Anyone sensing a theme here?

But the thing is, I really do LOVE my children. I read to them, and play with them. I try really hard to give them balanced meals, and teach them to make good food choices when they're on their own. I've sung to them since they were little, and I do my best to encourage their creativity. I squeeze them tight, and kneel down to pray with them, and I open my eyes and smile at Teag when something they say in said prayers touches my heart. I volunteer crazy amounts of hours at their school, and rearrange my days for play dates. I worry about them constantly. Are they safe? Are they happy? Are they growing up right, or am I seriously damaging them in some unrealized way?

I find myself very often going, "I can't believe these are my kids", it seems like such an awesome responsibility to be a parent. And yet I chose it. Four times. Because I wanted it of course. I never thought I would be perfect at it, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit I thought I'd be pretty great. Then reality hit, and with it the big realization that parenting is hard. Soul-crushingly hard. Their little lives are so dependent on you, for every tiny little thing. And then suddenly they aren't and you find yourself dealing with that. It's a roller-coaster ride of constantly changing norms. I've felt some of my highest highs with my kids, and some of my lowest lows with them as well. It's been amazing, hysterical, exhilarating and scary. And I know it's fleeting, so I'm trying not to wish away the harder parts.

I know I'm not a super-mom. I won't always have my kids hair combed and faces washed. I may never coordinate one of their birthday party decorations beyond what matching supplies I can get at Walmart. And I may never be the mom who can look calmly on while her kids knock over a giant glass of juice because they were too busy dancing at the table instead of eating. But hopefully they'll know that their mom loves them no matter what, even when their screw-ups reach epic proportions. They'll know they can talk to me when their friends hurt them, or their emotions are in a tailspin. Because I'll be there.

That's the kind of mom I am.