A Better Mom

If someone else was the mother of my kids, they would be doing a better job. 

They’d be more patient, and have more fun with the kids. (Instead of always feeling burnt out and irritated that they are always in my space.)

They’d teach my kids life skills, problem solving, money sense, how to stay safe in any situation, how to navigate tricky friendships, how to respond to bullying, how to regulate their nervous systems, how to be a good teammate, and how to recognize injustice. (Instead of just hoping they figure it out on their own, or at school.)

They would be making sure that Lily had regular OT appointments, massage appointments, and follow-ups with the bone doctor at Children’s in case she decides she wants surgery on her arm someday. (Instead of being nonchalant about the fact that she has a limb difference, and not getting her the extra support and self-care knowledge that she’ll need long-term.)

A better mom would take the kids for haircuts wherever they wanted to go, to get whatever style they wanted (instead of insisting that they get a trim every 6 months, whether they want it or not, and doing it myself).

This parent would take my kids shopping often to make sure they have clothes/shoes/accessories that they love and that fit them well (instead of letting them wear mismatched socks, underwear that’s a size too small, the same faded t-shirts they’ve had for two years, pants that barely reach their ankles, or are so long that they step on and wear out the bottoms…)

They would practice school stuff at home, especially math, making it fun for the kids but also helping them learn (instead of saying ‘math is hard’ and telling them it will just take time for them to catch on).

This parent would encourage their interests, invest in what they want to learn to do, and help them build structure around practicing their skills and honing their talents. (Instead of having no structure themselves, and therefore not being able to model or teach it to someone else.)

This better mom would teach my kids to distinguish between what they can do, what they can’t do, and what they need help with (instead of letting them decide they’re bad at some stuff or incapable of it, when really they just need more time or support to learn to do it).

They would always be reading them a book, and they’d finish every book they start together. They’d find books that teach life skills, social justice, feminism, sexual safety and everything else I’m failing to teach them, in a digestible, age-appropriate way.

This mom would plan more trips, playdates, outings: educational and recreational, and always be an active participant in what the kids wanted to do.

A better parent would structure my kids’ days so that they have a balance of rest, leisure, play, learning, activity, silliness, seriousness, teamwork, nutrition, skill-practice, interest-building, recreation, projects, affection, attention, alone time, leadership, creativity, following intuition, being in nature, practicing self-care, giving back, responsibility, making and completing goals, learning their personal magic, whimsy, connection, and love.

Sigh.

But there is nobody else showing up to parent my kids. There’s me. I’m what they get. And I’m messing up, and I’m failing, and I’m dropping the ball on so many things that feel important.

But…

If I searched the world over, and came up with one thousand willing parents who could do ALL of the things I listed above, my kids would still turn around and choose me. Because I may not be doing all of the things a parent could be doing, but I am their Mom, and I am enough.

I am a Mom who tells them I love them every day, multiple times, and in multiple ways. 

I hug them when they need it, even if they’re at the age when they’re starting to think they don’t need it. (They’re always glad that I do.)

I tell my kids every day that they are strong, or wise, or determined, or kind, or creative. And I’m not just saying it, I’m seeing it in them and reflecting what I see so they can know that about themselves.

I am a Mom who shows my kids a deep love for the Earth, and all living things. 

We bury dead birds we find in our neighbourhood, and they witness my care and my grief over each little life.

On our walks, I name and greet the plants and trees along the path. My kids echo my greetings, and know the names of our forest friends. They have learned to thank the huckleberry bushes for each little red berry they enjoy, and to treat all life as sentient and worthy of care.

They watch me collect grass seed from lawns that have been free to grow, and sprinkle it lovingly over our dusty, neglected back yard. They see me water the seeds, and sing over them, and celebrate each time a new patch sprouts.

My kids have a Mom who is known to the local crows, after nearly two years of greeting them daily when I walk under their trees. When their baby fledged and landed on a busy walkway, these crows swooped and cawed at every other passerby. When I approached, the crows calmly watched as I gently coaxed their baby into a box and moved it to a safer place nearby. My kids looked on in awe as the parents slowly followed us to where their baby was waiting. They witnessed the nurturing of relationship with nature, and felt the magic of it.

My kids know that they can come to me with their problems, from how to deal with a hangnail to how to settle their minds when they’re anxious about something.

My kids have a Mom who loves herself, fully and completely, in all her imperfection. They hear me call myself beautiful, and mean it from the inside out. They see me tend to myself with alone time, tea time, cuddle time, friend time, and leisure time. 

My kids have a Mom who can cry in front of them, and who can share just enough of her own hurts that they recognize her as a person who also needs care. They take their turns giving me hugs, having learned from me how effective that can be in making one feel better.

My kids have a Mom who loves her man, fully and completely. They see my smile when he walks into a room, and they see me relax fully when he holds me, swaying in the kitchen. They are witnessing love, teamwork, marriage, and deep friendship, in their parents’ relationship. They see us disagree sometimes, and they wait anxiously as we work things out. They are learning that love doesn’t always mean smiles and swoons, but sometimes means hard work and talking things out.

My kids have a Mom who is often busy and distracted, and sometimes overwhelmed, but I don’t think they would describe me that way. They hear me singing as I do the dishes, and they see me light up when I’m petting our dog or watering my garden, or listening to music that I love. 

My kids hear me saying how much I love them, our home, the mountains, our dog, the river, the forest, the ferns, our crows, the trees in the park, the tiny flowers in the field, gnomes, my sister, my cup of tea… I am showing them that all the little pleasures count, and add up to one big joy-filled life, even if there’s hard stuff and hurts in between.

I can’t be all of the things my kids might need, from a math tutor to a financial advisor, but I can be myself. And the more myself I am, the more I feel I am enough.