I’m not a big mommy blogger. There’s many reasons, like my kids probably don’t want their high school bully to find lengthy stories about their boogers from 12 years earlier, and normally I just need a break from everything mommy. Shocker right? But I am still a mom, and these post will still pop up, sorry minions!
I was just thinking today as I folded the same angry bird t-shirt for the 3rd time this week, about how I have absolutely no clue as to what I’m doing. Granted I get that I’m folding laundry… but when the hell did that happen? Laundry was something you neatly tossed next to your dresser… folding is for old people, who have nothing better to do. (joking)
I mean, I’m glad I’ve outgrown most of my early twenties “stuff”… but I thought with all this cooking and cleaning and minion training I’d get smarter some how… aren’t parents supposed to be wise?
I personally feel like a 10-year-old calling the school to explain my son’s absence. Will they believe me? Maybe I should have my mom call!? And don’t they have an expert to tell me if my son really needs to stay home or not? Who made me old enough to make the call?
And don’t get me started on discipline and manners. I’m positive I have that all wrong.
Coat, Jacket, or Sweatshirt?
Allergies or a Cold?
Am I open enough, am I there? Do I pry? Do I ignore?
And is there an official scale to let me know if I balance two children correctly?
Do I inspire them enough?
Will they need therapy when they’re older?
Will they one day be blogging (or worse a memoir!) about the horribleness that was their childhood?
Do I lead?
Who are they really when I am not there?
Do I do this again?????
I have a poster stuffed in the back of my dresser, a cheap little poster that Grandpa Pigeon’s (anyone else remember those?) gave out for father’s day many, many years ago… It ponders on all sorts of questions like these and ends with this…..
“One day, when your children become parents, and you watch them be parents, then and only then will you know what kind of parent you were.”
Does this mean we’re idiots until we’re grandparents? Because now I’m really confused, because I do technically in an odd long story way already have a two-year old grand-daughter… So I should be a genius, now?
Because most days, with the world spinning between colds and teething and spilt milk and skinned knees, and hurt feelings and grand questions of “why” I feel like I have the wisdom of a child, and I want nothing more than just one inch of the wisdom I am sure my parents had. Just don’t tell them that.