I'm here to talk about normal.
Or rather letter N in the April A-Z challenge.
I think it must be so hard to parent in the age of the Internet. There are a lot of supermoms out there, or at least women who play one online.
Their homes are beautifully decorated, their children's rooms organized by bin and color, and they bake themed sugar cookies for every occasion, monogrammed no less. They craft cute stuff in their spare time like hair bow holders that match their nursery colors, and mod-podged bulletin boards. They prepare perfectly balanced, organic, sugar-free, lunches that their children gobble down because they've been taught a carrot is just as good as a chocolate. They capture it all in soft angel light with gorgeous photographs that are filtered, cropped, and posted for all the world to see.
I truly love seeing beautiful photos, and I have no issue with people who post only their best side, be it home or family. I'm sure some mothers out there though, feel less than adequate when they hold themselves up next to a superwoman, and to those mamas I say if you wanna feel better, hold yourself up next to me. In fact I'll give you a stool for your aching feet and a cup of tea for your tired heart.
I admire women who are not only creative, but who make their creative ideas a reality. My house was clean, but you could come in and plop down on my couch, and our kids could play while we had coffee. We'd be interrupted a lot because kids interrupt, but we'd work on teaching them to say excuse me, to wait, to not interrupt...it's a process.
I baked and cooked and enjoyed it very much, healthy meals and cookies too. Cookies that were not monogrammed, but tasted good anyway. I took an awful lot of pictures, emphasis on the word awful, because I've always liked to mark the days and the moments and the memories. Even now I look at
my brown bag full of out of focus, off centered photos, the ones I can hold in my hand because I haven't quite managed to get them in a scrapbook, and I smile.
Because I love being a mother.
And I love mothers, the perfect and the imperfect. The old, the young, the mid-lifers. The super creative who run like the energizer bunny, and the moms who think cooking means opening a can. The gardeners and photographers and the ones who drive their kids to school wearing pajamas under their raincoat. Motherhood in the 21st century has become something of a competition sport, and I don't really understand why.
I am a less than perfect mother...a mother who fretted more than she should have, who occasionally uttered the dreaded phrase, 'Because I said so', and who every now and then said let's put our pajamas on at 4 pm and eat pancakes for dinner because Mama's tired.
Because sometimes Mama
was tired.
Mothering takes energy and sometimes you just run out of steam. You need a nap, a vacation, or a night out where you're offered wine instead of apple juice. You need a friend.
I'm not criticizing women who are chock-a-block full of talent...I just think we all have something different to offer, and the world benefits from the many unique strengths and abilities mothers bring to the table. If mod podge isn't yours that's okay. I'm sure there are other things you do well, so focus on that.
I like to think of the many women whose paths have crossed mine, some since birth and some for just a season. Women whose hand reached out to mine as I navigated the sometimes mysterious, sometimes scary, sometimes just plain exhausting land of motherhood.
I think of my own mother who still mothers me. Who lets me pour out my heart to her in regards to my children. A woman who prays. I think of my very dear mother in law who has always treated me as a daughter and who always tells me I'm a wonderful mother even when I'm not feeling so wonderful. My sisters and sisters in law...women different from one another, but each one loved for the special something they bring into my daughter's lives.
I think of all the many moves we've made, new towns, new neighborhoods, new countries, and how God knew just who I needed next door or across the street. Neighbors who swapped child care, who drove me to the emergency room when my daughter needed stitches and it snowed and my husband was out of town and my car was in the shop. Yes all at the same time.
Neighbors who gave my children juice or Kleenex or band aids, and me a cup of tea and a listening ear. I remember the gentle encouragement of a slightly older mom, and her very practical offer of a ride to bible study on Tuesday mornings. I remember the warm reassurance of a first grade teacher...Sunday School workers and youth leaders too. Strangers who became friends in a city across the sea. Special friends who every Friday prayed for my children, for their teachers, their school, and for me.
I think of my sittin' at the kitchen table friends comparing notes on life with teens, and figuring out together how to gracefully go from a houseful to not a houseful. Women who had run businesses and classrooms and offices, and who now ran homes and carpools. Women who grew up speaking a language different than mine, but whose heart beat with the same fierce love for their children.
Dear Moms-
Be kind. To yourselves and to the moms you see in real life and online life. We're all doing the best we can, making some mistakes along the way, but loving our kids as best we know how.
And when you have an Easter where your 7 month old has twisted herself into a pretzel in her efforts to get down, and your almost 3-year old does not want her picture taken, or her cousin either, take it anyway. Don't filter out the shadows or try to photoshop that worn out, frustrated expression from your face, the one that says you've had too little sleep and are contemplating tears as soon as the lens is snapped.
Just let it be.
In twenty years look with new old eyes at the picture of your long ago normal day. A day you wanted so much to be special that in the end you found a little disappointing, because this was your picture.
When you look at this picture again, you'll wonder how in the world something so impossibly funny and sweet could have ever been viewed as a dissapointment. You'll laugh at your two piece dress and the bright blue sky, and most of all at the preciousness of a moment that will come racing back to you in a flash of something brilliant and perfect.
Yes, perfect.
Not you yourself, but the moment you captured on film. That moment you thought was all wrong with its shadows and bad lighting and uncooperative small, but mighty subjects is absolutely perfect.
One day you will laugh and know that only in motherhood can imperfection be perfection.
