Some days (like yesterday) I wake up already tired. All I want to do is sit with a hot drink and a snack and read my book. I want to curl up in my bed and nap, or listen to a podcast while manically stabbing wool (iykyk). All the admin sits ignored on my desk and I say no a lot more than I need to.
Other days, like today, I practically leap out of bed and I’m loving life. I feel present and there with whatever I’m doing. I lean into my children’s unorthodox ideas (that usually involve A LOT of cardboard and hot glue), I’m down on the floor working with them, I happily run the errands I need to run, I make lists and cross things off with reckless enthusiasm.
Some days, I’m somewhere in between. I start off strong, plateau around lunchtime and fizzle out gradually as the afternoon goes on.
On the book and podcast and stabbing days, I used to wonder whether I should really be home educating. If I can’t always be present, are my kids better off with someone who can? If I can’t keep up with daily chores, should I be adding my children’s education to the list? If I can’t find joy and wonder in daily life, shouldn’t my kids be around someone who can? If I can’t keep all my triggers at bay, aren’t they better off with someone else?
I can only answer for myself here, but the answer to every single one of those questions (and more) is a resounding no.
And here’s why: I am their parent and they need me, just as I am. They NEED me as I am. They don’t need a perfect mother who is on top of everything all the time and radiates joy and presence at all times.
They need a human mother. Who is flawed and who sometimes feels fatigue or rage or despondence and can say as much. They need to see how a real person manages living in the real world.
They WANT me around, just as I am. They don’t want me to be perfect because what would that say about their equally flawed selves?
The more I mess up, the more I admit to poor executive function, to overwhelm, to tiredness, to blunders and mistakes and triggers - the more they can admit to them too.
We need to talk about how even on our worst days, we are still the best people to be around our children.
I also feel like this points to something else: the idea that we aren’t really the same parent every day, and our children are not the same children every day, and consequently it doesn't make sense to have one approach every day.
And this is also why parenting advice, especially well-meaning peaceful parenting scripts, fall so woefully short in practice. It’s not only that every family is different, and that every human is different, but also that every day is different even for one human!
Yesterday I had no enthusiasm for being playful, I had less patience, I had more needs that I couldn’t ignore, and I needed to place less demands on myself and others. Today, I can hold everyone else’s emotions much more capably and calmly, I have less pressing personal needs and I can make more space for my children’s needs, I can be more fun and playful and do high-energy stuff. Tomorrow - who in the world knows!
I cannot be one thing, every day. My children are not one thing, every day. It really is true that we contain multitudes. Turns out this is okay and valid and normal for mothers too! Not just Walt Whitman and men! And it goes for our children too.
They get to hold a million truths about themselves too. They get to break out of the boxes we so easily place them in.
We get to bumble through the days we are starry-eyed and connected, the days we are less so. It is all okay. We are still the right people for each other.
Because also - it’s mutual. No-one will ever tell us that our children are actually not the right children for us. We would be better off with different children, in fact.
Said nobody ever.
Our children are perfect for us and we are less-than-perfectly perfect for them.
Love this!
Ugh. I so needed this. I joke that I have about one “good” week per month. This doesn’t mean that I don’t fight like mad to make the most of the other weeks but it does create a lot of doubt in my position and what I’ve taken on for our family. Thank you for reminding me of our collective humanness.