I am many things in this life. I am a wife, a daughter, a sister, a best friend, but most of all I am a mother. A mother to two beautiful little girls. And not a perfect mother, not by any stretch. But I don’t want to be perfect.
I’m not sure if I am the only one but, I feel the insane pressure to be this perfect mother. That Instagram mother. The one we all troll and roll our eyes at while also silently wishing we could be a little bit. Just to have to it together enough get our face on in the morning, maybe not even walk out of the house in our slippers. But here it is… I’ll never be that mother. My life will never be perfect and I won’t ever pretend it is.
It’s chaotic and messy. Like wading through mud and cow shi*t in muck boots messy. There are days I feel like I won’t ever be able to clean up the mess. There are days all of my puzzle pieces won’t fit into their places. I have more of those days than not it seems. I fall apart, I scream, I cry, I cuss. I’ve locked myself in my bathroom just for a few seconds of peace.
When they were babies we would lay them in their crib wide awake or crying. We would let them cry it out (never lasted more than a few minutes), or they would just talk and sing till they got themselves to sleep. We never believed they always had to be rocked to sleep or that they needed to depend on us to fall asleep. When they fell or bumped their heads we wouldn’t go running to them and pick them up right away. We would get them up, dust them off, make sure nothing was broken and tell them to go back to playing.
I yell at the girls more than I should. I expect them to clean their own rooms and their own messes. I expect them to help me around the house when I ask them to. I don’t let them talk back, or disrespect us in our home. I expect them to listen and mind at school, when they are at their grandparents, or friends houses. I expect them to listen when we go out to eat and mind their manners.
I don’t mind scowling at them or correcting them in public. I have dragged them out of a grocery store because they were throwing fits. I will take away their toys, tablets, TV. I will make them sit in their rooms by themselves and think. I will always make them apologize if they are in the fault. Maybe I have very high expectations of my girls. Why is that? Well, I guess my main and short answer would be: I don’t want my kids to be assholes.
Listen I’ve worked in a school before… I’ve met some of those kids, as well as their parents. You can easily figure out why those kids are the way they are. I refuse to be one of those parents. If the girls come home with a bad grade, or if they get in trouble at school, I won’t automatically blame someone else. I won’t say it’s the teachers fault for not teaching my kids the right way, or they pushed the kid at recess because of something that kid did and mine wasn’t in the wrong.
My daughters will always be held responsible if they were at fault. We will discuss with them why they were at fault, discuss ways things could have gone differently. They will be punished accordingly, but they will know it’s always with love. Well, maybe when they will older they will realize that it’s all with love.
We will always come to their defense when they weren’t in the wrong. If they come home crying because someone was being a bully at school I will sit them down and talk them through their emotions and try to teach them to brush off those things they can’t control. I will hold them as they cry over boys, and give them the ice cream and chocolate after their first big breakup.
I want my girls to realize that growing up in this day and age they need to be tough. That they will need to lean on each other. They need to realize nothing will be handed to them. There will be so many bumps in the road, so many things they have to overcome. They will need to work hard in life. I want them to know they can do anything they set their mind to, but it won’t come easy.
You see, I will always be that mean mom because I love them more than life itself. They drive me crazy, make me want to pull my hair out. I enjoy those days I get to myself, to recharge. But they are mine, and I am responsible for showing them to have a kind heart while not getting walked on. To stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. To never waiver in their beliefs. To go with their gut, because 90% of the time it’s right. That it’s ok to wear muck boots instead of heels. That they can drive a tractor just as good as anyone else. They can do anything in the world they put their mind to, and their heart behind. That their voice matters. I want to raise girls who can be warriors, risk takers, and well… whomever they damn well want.
I may be that mean mom in my girls eyes, but I will forever to their protector and strength. I will forever fight for them.