Perfectly Ordinary

If you had asked me 5 or 10 years ago what my life's ambition was, I would have answered, "To be Supermom!"  I imagined vacuuming in pearls and preparing beautiful, balanced meals.

My children would always be neat, matching, and of course...perfect.

Every day would start with snuggling in my feather-down bed and proceed with a tickle fight resulting in blissful giggling.

We would take nature walks and my children would hang on my every knowledgeable word.  I would of course, be stylish, well accessorized, fun, and admired.
   
Today has been one of those days where I've had to seriously ask myself what I was possibly thinking.  Not to say that being a college student, a part-time employee getting paid nothing, a missionary, or a 4th grade teacher have been more glamorous or desirable occupations, but being a stay-at-home mom has its unique challenges.

I have been pooped on, vomited on, spit up on, screamed at, cried at, yelled at, ignored, and replaced (by things as boring as granola bar wrappers and dish towels).  I've had my schedule ruined, my hair pulled, and my patience tried.  I feel insecure, inadequate, imprisoned, and intimidated by the monumental task handed to me, while at the same time feeling undervalued, average, and directionless because of the menial and repetitive nature my days have taken on.  

I cry at one misplaced shoe or toothpaste left on the bathroom sink.  I try to create a perfect little home-life world, and cry when perfect doesn't happen.  I measure success with a very different ruler than before.  It's no longer money made, classrooms organized, deadlines met, or tests passed.  There are no more grateful parents or students telling me how creative or fantastic I am.  Now, success is showering by noon...or at all.  Success is not crying.  Success is smiling and meaning it.  Success is leaving my apartment, even if just to get the mail.  Success is making the bed.  Success is limiting Psych or Castle episodes to one...or two. ;)

While I realize that I am one of the lucky ones, that I get to stay home and be there, sometimes I would rather not be there.  And herein lies the guilt and the reflection which inspired this particular post.  Is it bad that I am not ecstatic to do the same domestic thing every day?  Am I a bad mother for not  being content with diapers and laundry and story time?  Why do I feel so guilty for wanting to get a job at least one or two days a week?  Am I broken?  Why can't dad just put the dish in the dishwasher?  Why can't the baby wake up with a loud laugh instead of a hysterical cry?  Why doesn't anyone say thank you for the poop stain I just magically caused to disappear with the help of my trusty assistant, OxyClean?  Will I ever be able to read a book again that is not made of cardboard?  Will I ever be able to get ready in one stretch again?  Will my hair always dry funny now?  Is there still life beyond my apartment walls?  How did walking around Walmart turn into an event?  What do I do now that I have accomplished every major goal on my life checklist?  What was I thinking when I made that checklist?  Why is there more laundry to do?  How did chocolate become so important?  Why are the pants high-waters again?

These are the kinds of things that go on in my head.

I feel like people are judging me all the time.  Like this lady, though her intentions were good, I'm sure.  Pinterest tells me all of the things I should be doing and making and coveting.  Facebook tells me about all the things my friends are doing and making.  It always seems like everyone else figured out the whole supermom-perfection thing from the outside.

But then I realize...

It's all a lie.  And, who cares?  Maybe I'm a little more psycho than the rest, but I think everyone is a little crazy.  Even if they pretend not to be.

This lady says I'm doing okay.  And so does this one.  This one even encourages my behavior.

And...even though some days or moments seem too ridiculous or hard to live through, the perfectly ordinary days do have their advantages.

Today, for example: 

I got to walk to the bookstore and meander around leisurely.  Hyram smiled or slept the whole time.

I was able to meet friends at the park and just sit on the grass and laugh...in the sunshine nonetheless.  

I didn't have to go anywhere or do anything I didn't want to do (Diapers are the exception here, people.  Today there were 5, count 'em, 5.  With poop.  Green poop.).  

Hyram popped his first little tooth (THANK you for the explanation on the recent freak-out moments and excessive drooling!)  

I only cried once.

We attempted day two on the baby-food-in-the-high-chair thing and actually got 10 spoonfuls swallowed instead of spit out.  

I got to sit down and plan the next week with David, and we got our schedules all schnazzy and synced up.

I received this text message: "Dear Denae, I have a secret to tell you... You are the sweetest and cutest girl in the whole world!  Love you."

I ate chocolate.  Dark chocolate.

Every time I squeezed Hyram's little squeaker frog, he laughed.

It might not seem like much (even to me some days), but I really think these moments will be the ones I look back on and remember.  I think we are given the gift of forgetfulness to increase our hindsight happiness.  A year from now, I am not going to remember my feelings of captivity or sleep deprivation or clutter-craziness. I am going to remember the ordinary moments that made me smile.  I'll remember the good stuff.  

I may not be Supermom, but being a mom is pretty super, even if it is perfectly ordinary.