Mom Stuff I Will Always Suck At

June 2015

I know them. You know them. Crap, you might be one of them. The women who totally rock the mom world in all the ways we’ve been trained to believe the mom world should be rocked. That world in which I suck. And if you’re like me, we never encounter these Super-Moms on the rare occasions when we’ve got it all together. No no. These women invade our day with their fully dressed well-groomed child at their side the moment ours begins doing cartwheels and everyone simultaneously realizes I didn’t do a shoes and underwear check before we left the house. Get off my back, wardrobe isn’t my strength, and she had em on yesterday I swear.

I used to find myself torn between silently envying their attention to detail or losing myself in their sympathetic gazes while rambling excuses and wishing they’d hug me. 

But not anymore. I threw in the towel somewhere along the way, but there’s something very freeing about finally admitting that some things are just not my thing. Such as…


Glue guns, glitter, paints, yarn, tiny beads…Nope. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. As a general rule, I try to avoid things that will end in disaster and profanity. Basically, anything beyond a tub of play dough…bought from Walmart because you wizards who make your own are on a whole ‘nother level.


My kids will have to refer to my Facebook page for visual memories of their childhood. I’m okay with that.


I can sew a button on. Need anything more than that and we’re heading to Kohls…and you might get 2 hours out of that button, so plan accordingly.


I kill live plants. That is all.


Kudos to the geniuses in the checkout line with 12 bars of hand soap, 15 tubes of toothpaste and 24 bottles of shampoo and the cashier gives you money. I tried couponing once, spent 3 hours of research and 2 hours in Walmart only to have the cashier tell me I saved a grand total of $4 dollars and .23 cents and I lay my head down on the conveyor belt and burst into tears…because drama, I rock.


Three of our kids were successfully trained under my genius system of letting them run outside in the backyard with no diaper so they learned the potty feeling with no mess on the carpet. Our 4th child proved that method flawed when she ended up standing by the backdoor asking to be let outside every time she had to pee.   


Please don’t call me in to tell me that my 7 year old is struggling in Art and don’t get all offended when I tell you that’s not a real subject. She’s 7. And it’s ART. But she had her undies on today, didn’t she? Boom.


Why am I signing stacks of paperwork every day? Let’s either consolidate those bad boys and be happy with my initials at the top, or don’t complain about my signature stamp that I taught my child how to use.


And/or the dreaded band/choir concerts where they actually do consolidate, but in the worst possible way. Nobody should be required to sit through Flutophone concerts for grades K-6, choir performances for grades 7-12 or banquets where long-winded coaches rehash the play-by-plays name-for-name of every participant in football, cheerleading, wrestling, basketball, track, cross country, softball, baseball and soccer while the Super-Moms take pictures for their scrapbooks and wipe away tears and I pop blood pressure medication and try to refrain from flipping a table. I’m all for recognizing our kids…one grade level, one activity, one hour at a time…with everyone holding their applause till the very end, please and thank you.


On our weekend, the 2nd grade guinea pig didn’t even make it to Saturday. RIP, Snowball.


We’re the family with kids wearing their sports uniforms ringing your doorbell asking for candy. On the wrong night. 


Aka; the pitfall to parental failure. I forget, okay? Yes, I could confess that it’s me and admit to my negligence, but telling her the tooth fairy might be a crazy glue sniffer is buying me a little extra time.


I bow to the mom who calmly reacts to injury. If my kid runs up to me with blood spouting from her head, I guarantee I’ll start screaming louder than she is.


If you wanna meet me for a mom lunch, choose a place that serves giant patties of ground beef between 2 sesame seed buns. If the word Panera comes out of your mouth, sorry but I’m super busy that day.


Sing Songy mom voice. You know, the one you hear women use in the grocery store while trying to patiently reason with an unruly child. Trust me, one stern “knock it off” and the conversation is ovah.

That being said, adding patience to this list probably goes without saying.

Despite it all, 2 of our kids are grown, married and living well-adjusted lives, which gives me renewed hope for the 2 children still living at home. I freely acknowledge there are areas I could improve and openly admit there are others that simply are not a priority for me. But when it’s all said and done, every mom has her own strengths and we need to stop beating ourselves up against a standard we can’t (and shouldn’t) compete with. So how bout we focus on the things we do rock? 



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