Measures of Success....

Sometimes it's so hard to know how we're doing at this motherhood thing.

Oh sure, we all have days when we think we're doing a pretty good job. Days when everyone is dressed and fed and well behaved and the house isn't a completely embarrassing mess.

Or maybe days when everyone is dressed, or fed, or well behaved, or the house isn't a completely embarrassing mess. Because, honestly, I don't think I've had a day when all of those things happened on the same day since...well, since before I had kids.

So now, most days, I have to pick which of those things I'm going to have. And most days, the one I pick doesn't happen. So then I pick another one, and that one might happen. Or it might not.

So then I just settle for any one of those things to happen in a day.

Or, sometimes, over the course of a week.

Let's just all get our priorities straight and stop this ridiculous, over achieving nonsense, shall we?

I was talking to some friends from church a whole ago, and they talked about how the best thing is the world is seeing a friend unexpectedly show up at your back door. Everyone seemed to agree that this really is just the best thing. So I smiled. I nodded. I put on my face that said "Yes! That really is just the best thing".

But then I thought about it and realized, what if they think that I really do think that this is the best thing and then someday, they actually do it? They actually show up at my door, because here I am, agreeing that the face of an unexpected friend at the door really is the best thing?

And I would have to decide whether I was going to hide in the corner of the kitchen until they stopped knocking and left, or answer the door and tell them that out entire family was in the midst of a typhoid epidemic, so it probably wouldn't be such a good idea if they came in.

Because if they showed up unexpectedly at my door on most days, they would not be coming in.

(As an aside, if you ever do hide in the corner of your kitchen, make sure you're not across from the cabinet with the reflective glass, which can be seen through the door, because otherwise your unannounced friend (or maybe, in some cases, the guy you're trying to break up with) is going to see you, and ask you why you were hiding in the corner, when they could clearly see your reflection in the glass. I mean, that's what I've heard can happen)

So, anyway, I outed myself to my friends at church. Everyone was still talking about how great it is to have a friend show up unexpectedly, and then I said "Well, no, it's really not great. I mean, not for all of us. In fact, I need a week's notice"

OK, a day.

OK honestly, I need two.

And these are the kind of things that go through my head as I think about how I'm doing. Because I know there are many people with young kids who manage to keep their house "company ready" at least most of the time, and I am most certainly not one of them.

I just don't know they do that.

I tried to get tips. I even signed up to get daily emails from Fly Lady. She told me to shine my sink, and wait for the next days emails. So I did it. I shined my sink. OK, so it may not have been the very first day I got that first email from her. But within a few days of getting that email for the fourth or fifth time, I did shine my sink.

But then I wondered if I was doing it right. I mean, what some people consider a shiny sink is quite different from what others consider a shiny sink. So I looked up how to shine a sink. And that's what I did.

And then I waited for more instructions.

I read the next email. It told me to do....something. Who can remember. And I was really going to do it, too. But then, well, I got busy. And those daily emails started piling up. And one day, I noticed that my sink wasn't shiny anymore, which totally pissed me off since I had just shined it that month. So I thought about going back and reading some of those Fly Lady emails.

So I opened one. And I found that little "unsubscribe" link.

And I clicked on it.

It's probably not accurate to say that I don't have time to do things like that. It's probably more accurate to say that I really don't have time to care.

Not because I have zero time. That's obviously not true. Right now, for example, at 12:04 am, I could be shining my sink. Or I could be sleeping, so that I could get up at 6 am, before the kids, and shine my sink. Or, tomorrow I could change "facebook time" to "sink shining time".

Some days I even think that today will be the day that I start shining my sink, or scrubbing my toilets more often, or setting time aside to put all that laundry away as soon as it come out of the dryer.

But then I stand in the kitchen, and look at those sweet faces, as they ask me for more milk, or for syrup for their waffles, or to tell me that they just pooped on the stairs, and I think,

"There are only a few opportunities to preserve my sanity on any given day. I'll be damned if I'm going to waste them shining a sink".

Sorry Fly Lady.

I used to think I needed to keep my house more together. But I've tried that, and for a myriad of reasons, it just doesn't work. And recently it hit me. I don't need to keep my house more together.

What I really need is to get over the fact that I don't keep my house more together. And really, when did good housekeeper ever become synonymous with good mother anyway?

Maybe it was June Cleaver. Her house was always spotless. But did you ever notice, we only ever saw one room at a time? Oh sure, the living room was spotless, but I bet Wally and the Beaver just dumped all their crap in the dining room. (And really, you can't tell me there weren't a few dozen empty Valium bottles hiding under June's bed).

So I'm trying to change my definition of a good day.

It's a good day when everyone is mostly happy, and mostly dressed, and mostly not driving each other too crazy.

It's also a good day is when I decide to stop at Starbucks instead of the liquor store.

At least, before noon. After noon, it just might be the liquor store stop that makes it a good day.

I took the kids to the pediatrician a few weeks ago for O's well child visit. We waited in the exam room for forty minutes. Then the pediatrician--who I happen to love--came in and fixated on B's out of control behavior. Which, I couldn't help but note, probably wouldn't have been quite so out of control if he hadn't been waiting in an 8 x10 exam room for forty minutes.

Without being asked, and based on his ten minute observation of a child who had been locked in a small room for forty minutes, Dr Knowitall told me that B needed consequences, and that he should know it wasn't OK to behave that way, and that he needed to be held accountable, and that change "wouldn't just happen"--I actually had to do something about it.

Then he told me that I certainly wasn't the only one with "this problem". Even though "this problem" wasn't at all what he seemed to think it was.

I think in his own way he was trying to make me feel better, and yet I left feeling...defeated.

Clearly, I was doing this motherhood thing wrong.

I tried to be more consistent over the next few days, but I soon realized that I was already being about as consistent as I could be.

Unless, of course, we just stayed home all day to address everyone's bad behavior, which will of course become worse if we stay home all day.

I found myself wanting to talk to Dr Knowitall again.

I wanted to tell him about moms like me. About how most days, as we drag our children to swim classes, and play dates, and doctors appointments where we are forced to wait for forty minutes in small exam rooms with three restless children, we are often over due for our own check ups, and dental visits, and hair cuts. That although we fantasize about laying on a beach as someone brings us colorful drinks in between massages and pedicures, ultimately we settle for a latte--and occasionally, if we're very, very, lucky--a nap.

I wanted to tell him that I know my children aren't perfect, and that I realize the importance of consistency, but that if I discipline them every.single.time they do something wrong, I will never leave my home

Which would drive all of us that much closer to the edge.

Vicious cycle, no?

I also wanted to tell him that my kids need clean clothes, and clean dishes, and food on the table at least three times a day.  And that my laundry room is often a complete disaster, in part because I stopped receiving Fly Lady's emails, and in part because I never would have done what those emails said anyway. And that after I recently spent an hour in the laundry room, ensuring that my children had clean, folded, well organized clothes, I came upstairs to find one naked thee year old standing on the kitchen table, a five year old decorating the house with miniature marshmallows, and an eight year old making lemonade, which happens to entail spilling lemonade mix all over the kitchen floor.

Walk a mile in my shoes, pal.

I wanted to tell him that while I may not always be the perfect disciplinarian, on many days, I can be found cleaning poop off the floor, wiping a bottom, helping with a school project, making sure dinner's not burning, kissing a boo boo, giving a dirty look that says "Be nice to your brother" while using sign language that says "Clean up those toys", and taking a phone call for work.

Simultaneously.

Cause I'm a mom, and that's what we do.

How do we know if we're doing a good enough job?

Is it enough that they are happy? Fed? Clothed? Loved?

Mostly kinda sorta well behaved?

Or will we have to wait, until they are grown and through college, and not using drugs, or spending time in jail, or getting involved in unhealthy relationships?

I don't fully know the answer.

But I know this:

No one else fully knows the answer either.

But I also know that at the end of each day, something magical happens.

After wrestling wet, soapy kids out of the bath and into pajamas, after picking up clothes and blankets off the floor, after trying not to trip over toys that I just picked up this morning, I kiss three sweet faces, and we say our prayers, and I tell them good night.

Sometimes, I think that it was a pretty good day.

Other times, I hope tomorrow will be better.

But for them, it was just a day.

A day with some good, and some not so good. A day when they were mostly happy and fully loved.
A day of freedom, and creativity, and laughter, and hopefully not too many tears.

A day filled with the special kind of crazy that can only be found at home.

A day of childhood.

I'm not doing it perfectly.

But it's close enough for them.

And that's success enough for me.