I have a confession to make. I am a mediocre mother. (There…I said it. The truth is out.) No, please don’t try to assure me that I am a stellar parent, worthy of accolades. I am not.
For many years, I have naively believed that I would somehow morph into the supermom of lore—a woman one step from perfection. I struggled with my shortcomings, always lamenting that somehow I was just not good enough. As a long-standing overachiever, ordinary was, well, plain ordinary.
I wanted to be and do more for my kids than just average. However, midway through my children’s childhoods, I have been forced to accept that I am firmly entrenched somewhere between Worst Mother of the Year and Best Mom Ever (both titles which have been bestowed on me with frequency by my progeny.)
Maybe I am just tired of beating myself over the head… or maybe I am just plain tired. I am exhausted trying to “keep up with the Jones”, or the Smiths, or the Millers. Let’s face it: I am never going to help my kids create an interactive, fully mechanized, prize-winning diorama in one evening. Hey, I am lucky if can build something with construction paper, toothpicks, and a gallon of glue. (And even that is pushing it!) Über-cute cookies of every shape and color imaginable, baked to pure perfection? Nope, not going to happen here—not in this lifetime. My kids are lucky to get the crumbs of store-bought baked goods.
I marvel at the mamas who saturate social media with their achievements, great and small. Seriously, who would have thought you could work full-time, volunteer in the community, schlep your ruggers to every activity imaginable, and still have the time and the energy to create a cupcake culinary masterpiece before bedtime? Amazing and truly intimidating these women are. My hat is off to anyone who can do this. How they do it⎯I haven’t a clue. Maybe they can “read in” us middle-of-the-road mommies? I like to be able to do-it-all without feeling all-done-in.
Published originally on 28 October 2014, Mediocre Mom