"Tricia, you wrote about that horrible meltdown of a day you had... what was that like for you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, they happen to me all the time. But they never happen to you. So, what was that like?"
Perhaps it's time for some clarity.
I appreciate the misguided notion that I am otherwise put together, and especially that I might never have a horrible meltdown of a day. But here's the truth: I am very much real, messy, cluttered, frayed, and on the very edge of a perfectly good cliff.
And that's one of the biggest reasons I keep this blog: to keep it real. To give you something to read, so you can (hopefully laugh) and say, "Yep. I so get that." If you can't yet laugh at your hard day, maybe you can laugh at mine.
Real moms are better at our jobs when we're real with each other. And far too often, we get caught up in the comparison games, the But I'm Not Her, and the If Only I Were-Had-Could-Would-Should.
And it's a waste of time.
I mean, aren't we all exhausted enough, without the score keeping? Isn't there enough laundry to fold, noses to wipe, shoes to tie, stories to read, gifts to wrap, and dates to keep... all without an endless ledger about who's doing it better, wiser, more efficiently, or with greater ease?
So, I chuck all that out the window, and I invite you to do the same. We're all doing our darn best, and we do it better when we can say to one another, with words or with a glance, "This is one !#&?% of a day. And how are you?"
I'll keep writing. Please keep reading. And please, let's keep it real.
Real Mothers don't eat quiche;
they don't have time to make it.
Real Mothers know that their kitchen utensils
are probably in the sandbox.
Real Mothers often have sticky floors,
filthy ovens, and happy kids.
Real Mothers know that dried play dough
doesn't come out of carpets.
Real Mothers don't want to know
what the vacuum just sucked up.
Real Mothers sometimes ask, "Why me?"
And they find their answer when a little voice says,
"Because I love you best."
Real Mothers know that a child's growth
is not measured by height or years or grade...
It is marked by the progression of
~ Author Unknown