On adulting and mothering...
The future frolics about just out of reach. And I wonder about it.
I wonder if the money will start to flow. Will I feel content? Will I start something new? Will I look back with regret?
And in this future, who am I? If my 20 year old self could see me now, what would she think? Would she be proud? Would she recognize herself?
Some days I wonder where and how all this happened. How I came to be me. Am I OK with this version of me? This current version?
I don’t know why I feel such unrest. I feel useless most days. That I’m not enough. That I’m not doing enough. But if I stop and list out all that I do in a day, I think I’d see that I’m using the wrong measuring stick.
Let’s see. Yesterday, Sunday, here’s all that I did. My after-the-fact to do list. My “done list”.
Wake up and snuggle Todd.
Clean the kitchen and make sure everyone has eaten breakfast. Including the dogs.
Run the dryer just in time for L to have a dry uniform for his soccer game.
Drive J and B to Dick’s Sporting Goods. Buy B new cleats. Buy J and L new shin guards. Buy Todd a birthday present.
Go to the car wash and clean out Todd’s truck that is long overdue for a cleaning.
Drive to the auto parts shop and buy new windshield wipers for the truck as one is currently split in half and not doing it’s job.
Take B and J to lunch. Break up fights ad nauseum.
Drive to Aldi and grocery shop for the week. Decide to be a fun mom and allow the kids to each buy a candy. Remember to buy L his favorite too.
Drive home and put away groceries.
Deal with dogs.
Figure out how to remove old windshield wipers and replace them with the new ones. Impressed with myself.
Help B with school project. Lie about her drawings and tell her they are incredible.
Do 3 more loads of laundry.
Fold and put away all laundry.
Help J with his science project. Proofread. Fact Check. Tech solver. Printer.
Cook dinner for all. Steady myself for groans about what I cooked.
Clean dishes.
Lay on J’s floor chatting with him 1 on 1 for 15 minutes. Learn he wants to be Red Hood for Halloween even though I have no idea who that is. Promise I’ll look up the Jason Todd version of Red Hood. Ask him if there’s anything I can do different as a parent. Use your phone less he replies. You don’t always hear me when I talk mom. He feels bad as he says this. I assure him it’s ok to be honest. Inside I cry.
Braid B’s hair.
Read The Never Girls book 7 with B.
Play our nightly meditation. Scratch B’s back. Hold her hand until she falls asleep.
Sit with L and chat 1 on 1. Try to make sure he knows I’m always here to talk about anything. I think it works because we do talk about some puberty things. Internally hope I’m not fucking him up. Play with filters on the phone with him. We look pretty great as cats.
Wash my face. Read in bed until I fall quickly asleep.
It’s a long list. I probably forgot things. It’s also a list of things that no one really notices. I think that’s the thing. I feel invisible
I feel like all that I do doesn’t really get recognized. But it would if I stopped doing it. And this unpaid work doesn’t feel as valuable as paycheck work. Yet it is. I KNOW it is. And I know it IS appreciated.
But why do I feel so unfulfilled?
I want to mother. I want to be a good wife. I also want to feel fulfilled.
And I am told thank you. Not always but most days.
I likely didn’t tell my own mother thank you enough. It is the plight of mothers. We do because we must and because we show our love through doing. But I don’t think I gave enough thought to what adulting and mothering would require from an emotional standpoint. I doubt I’d change anything, but it has been a struggle. This adulting.
All the parenting books say to regulate yourself first. But no one tells you how to let the eye rolls and anger aimed directly at you simply roll off. I know kids have big emotions. But how do you become a stone wall letting all the ways they tell you you’re failing or that you suck simply roll off?
It takes a toll.
And today I felt run over.
I didn’t give enough time to wake up properly.
My reminder to brush teeth was obviously a slight.
MY knowledge of the placement of a certain sweatshirt was met with disgust.
Not a single good bye or I love you was uttered as they rushed out the door with their dad. He did hug me and tell me those words. I bristled at his kindness. Maybe the kids are learning it from me.
I am tired. I know I’m loved. But it’s awfully hard to keep giving all of yourself only to feel like the punching bag.
And the cherry on top is that I’m raising them. So it probably is something I’m doing that allows them to treat me this way. Is it all my fault?
Worst yet, I know I’ll miss this one day.
My oldest came in my room last night as I was about to go to sleep and he was visibly upset. I had no idea what was wrong and his words shook me. He was ruminating about something that would happen when he leaves for college. This 7th grade boy who is slowly morphing into a young man before my eyes was in crisis over something that’ll happen when he leaves this house.
And there it was. One day he will leave. And all this will be a blur.
I’ll look back and wonder if I could’ve done more. And wish I could go back in time.
Motherhood is like that. Soul crushing and yet soul giving.
There really is no way to be prepared. We are all just winging it.
So today I’m choosing to feel like I’m doing enough. That my love is enough. That my mistakes are forgiven. That they know that above all else, I am forever grateful to be their mom. Even this tired, unsteady version of me.
I know I’ll miss this.