Is my little guy eating dirt? Why yes. Yes he is.
Sometimes in the blogosphere it feels like you can’t quite show your human side. Choose the wrong word and you’ll hear about it in the comments section. Admit to making mistakes and you risk losing your credibility. Mention you actually fed your kids something that didn’t grow in your own back yard and who knows, someone might call DCFS. But cautious blogging has also fed this Pinterest-induced fantasy that there are actually perfect people out there.
It’s not true. In fact, I’ve been writing an entire series about how not true it is.
As I wrote in the introduction of my ebook, I’ve long been leery about being called a “parenting expert”. I’m much more comfortable as a child development specialist.
Much of what I write about parenting, I write to myself. Reminders, corrections, thoughts on how to be better tomorrow than I was today. I don’t write because I’m doing it all perfectly, I write because I need so badly to improve.
But I am careful in my writing and I’m very serious about my professional work. But I’m also very, very human. Exceptionally fallible, quirky, and out-right goofy.
So since I’ve been feeling oh so human this week, I thought I’d share a bit of that with you. Just keepin’ it real.
You know that mom who asks her kids which fruit or vegetable they’d like with their lunches — because you HAVE to have a fruit or a vegetable with your lunch — who then snitches hot fudge by the spoonful while preparing the aforementioned healthy lunches?
Yeah. I’m THAT mom.
That mom who was walking around, heaven-only-knows- how-long, with a dried stream of baby spit up down her riding boots?
Yup. That would be me.
The mom whose kitchen floor is usually covered with enough crumbs someone could bread chicken fillets simply by rolling pieces from one end of the room to the other?
What about that mom who let her son stay home “sick” from school, when she was really quite sure he wasn’t actually sick, just because she thought the kid could use a break? Oh, who happens to be the same mom who sent the same son to school after he seemed to be feigning a stomachache, only to get a phone call a short time later because her son threw up?
That mom who RSVP’d to the scouting event, then promptly wrote it down on the wrong date, leaving only a dark, locked house when the leaders came by to give the young scout a ride?
Yeah. That would be this gal, who ironically writes for The Organized Parent.
The mom who poured the dearly departed goldfish into the toilet bowl in preparation for a few tender words, only to realize mid-pour that the contents of the bucket were enough to automatically and unceremoniously flush the toilet, along with the precious fish, while the pint-sized mourners stood by, screaming in horror?
Yes. Rookie mistake.
How about that mom who headed to the freezer for a cold pack to sooth her son’s latest wounds only to be caught by her patient with chocolate breath upon her urgent return? Can I help it if the chocolate chips are stored right next to the ice packs?
OK. Yes on both counts.
The stylish mom (you know, with spit-up on her boots) who could at any moment be sporting a light saber on her belt loop because she is either a) in character, b) tired of holding it for Luke Skywalker who has now moved to another area of the playground, or c) completely unaware it’s been put there?
Definitely me….unless it’s one of my boy-mom friends.
That mom who often blames herself when her kids get hurt, not just because she could have prevented the accident with better supervision, but also because she’s sure she has passed along a very strong and genetic lack of all grace and coordination.
Mm hm. This goofy gal.
And that mom who gave in and let her boys eat chocolate bundt cake with their breakfasts, rationalizing that it’s basically the same as a chocolate muffin from Costco?
Oh yeah. Me. (Has anyone noticed a chocolate theme here?)
And that mom who loves her kids so much it breaks her heart? The mom who lays down each night (or in the wee hours of the morning) wondering if she did enough? That mom who worries about whether or not she’s getting it all right?
Like you, that’s also me.