The Plight of the Good Enough Mother

We survived the first week of school.

Everyone made it out the door at o'dark thirty including my 7th grader, who has to leave the house at 6:50am for advanced math.

No one forgot a lunch or a parental form or a show and share item.  And somehow, I managed my sanity.

In an effort to make it all work out, I get up at 4:30am to go for a run, to be back by 6am to make scrambled eggs for my son who is scrambling out of his bed at 6:20am asking himself, why am I alive at this hour?

After he and my husband are out the door and I've consumed 2.5 cups of really fucking big coffee before 7am, I am in the shower reminding myself that I forgot to shave my legs yesterday, and well, there's really no time today. Furry it is...

Towel on my head, I'm getting my girls out of their beds, uniforms on, hair braided and Rice Chex in their bowls so that I can quickly put concealer on my dark circles and grab a dress to wear to my teaching assistant job at their school.

Back packs, water bottles, lunches, cardigans and keys in hand, we head out the door driving to start our day.

And all the while, I'm mindful of laundry, meal planning (why do I make the same 5 things for dinner?), my parents upcoming visit, scheduling the oil change, grading essays for my graduate students, setting up a fall display for my jewelry business, swinging by Target for a birthday present and tampons and shit, I forgot that canvas I promised I'd buy Kate for her dragon art project.

And that's just the minute to minute shit, then there's the larger questions...where will my kids go to high school?  To college?  Are my daughters going to be in therapy because they share a room?  Do I read enough to my youngest?  Do I pay attention when they're telling me stories or can they tell that often I'm catching bits and pieces while I'm doing three other things?  Will I regret not being more in the present?  Have I done them a disservice by indulging too much Kraft macaroni and cheese and not enough hummus?

God, I just don't know.  But I think that there are lots of women like me in their 30's and 40's asking all of these questions, all of the time.  And, we're tired.  And, we're cranky.  And we're spread.  And we're happy.  And we're grateful.  And sometimes, we're not.

But I shit you not.  In the 80's, I don't ever remember my mom vocalizing worries like whether our car was the safest model or which school would provide us the strongest college prep.  I mean don't get me wrong, she loved us, but I don't feel like she was consumed by us.

The plight of the good mother is to feel as though you are constantly pivoting, wanting the best all the time, afraid of making a false move, or worse yet, a move that you can't take back.

My hunch is though that most of the time, my kids don't know my inner crazy lady workings.  They know they are loved.  They're not going to try new foods.  I am going to yell over absurd things and they are going to push back because that's what kids do.  I am going to tell them that they are grounded for life because that's what moms do.  And, we probably both can agree that we will all survive and be more than just okay.

But sometimes, many times, I wish I could just start my 4:30am day with the thought, "You're more than good enough.  Your kids are lucky to have you.  Here's to grace and fucking things up.  This is the admission for a blessed, beautiful, messy life."