The Truth, As I Know It....

I don't believe there are many hard and fast truths when it comes to parenting. In fact, I think we probably all have our own truths. Other people may share them, or they may not. They may understand them, or they may not. And really, who cares. You know what works in your house. I know what works in mine. And yes, even "works" may be a relative term. Is it all working as long as everyone is wearing clothes--anyone's clothes--and has eaten--something---three times today? Or is that just surviving, hanging in there, or muddling through? I guess it depends on who you ask.

But sometimes, it seems like the bar has been raised so high that our truths--whatever they are-- somehow aren't good enough compared to the truths we see all around us. The truths of other moms. The truths on magazine covers. On Christmas cards. On facebook posts.

I could venture to say that some of those truths may, in fact, not even be actual truths, but well, who am I to say what's real in someone else's world?

I can only tell you what's real in mine. And so, if for no other reason than to lower the bar a little for the rest of us, I will.

My truth, as I know it:

1) I hide from my children. Several times a day. Sometimes in the laundry room (hey at least I'm doing something while I'm hiding), but also in the bathroom, and the bedroom, and most recently, in the cool, quiet darkness of my family room, which just happens to be off of the laundry room, which is where they think I am. Washing, drying, folding, sorting. In reality, I am in the family room, on the couch, under a comforter. When I'm in the bathroom, they find me, and as I hear their footsteps coming closer, I also start to hear the music from Psycho in my head. At least I think it's just in my head. But since they have yet to find out about my family room hideaway, I'm a little safer there. I do answer when they call me, but I figure it's only fair that they have to call me as many times as I have to tell them to put their shoes on in the morning. So, you know, I try to answer by "Mommmmmmmy!" number seventeen.

2) Whenever possible, I drink during play dates. No, not if I am caring for someone else's children. But if their mother is here to care for them and is willing to drink with me, it's on. No, I'm not talking about getting sloshed and giggling on the kitchen floor while the kids play dress up in the play room. I try to save that for occasional Friday nights.

3) I firmly believe that appearances matter. Therefore, if you can't see it, it doesn't matter. Sometimes my kids don't have fitted sheets on their beds. Or socks under their shoes. Or clean underwear on under their shorts. Call it what you want. I call it "I don't have time to give a shit".

4) I believe in age appropriate time outs. So my four-year-old should spend no more than four minutes in his room, and my two year old shouldn't be there for more than two minutes. And yet, sometimes I need their time outs as much as they do. And I'm forty. You do the math.

5) The pizza delivery guy knows my first name. I expected this to be the norm when my youngest child was an infant. Not when he was almost three. And yet, I have no intention of our relationship changing anytime soon.

6) The lady at the McDonald's drive through should know my first name.

7) My house is a mess. Always. I once heard a mom of one child mention that a mom of five she knew "didn't really keep the house picked up". Really? A mom of five? Ya think? Obviously I only have three, but I can't manage to keep it picked up, so some days--weeks, months--I give up. If you want to come over, please call first. Give me a week's notice. And then when you do come over, wear a blindfold. See number 2 above.

8) My car is a mess, too. Always.

I am frequently reminded of the fact that I am often a complete mess. I was reminded of this just this morning when I took N to school fifteen minutes late, and had to walk her out to find her class at field day, and tell her that it was OK, and that she would figure out who she would be partners with, and apologize to her teacher for bringing her late. And I was reminded of it again later, when I went to her classroom pizza picnic and noticed, for example, that no one else's sibling was wearing a shirt with last night's ketchup on it, and that they were all, in fact, wearing socks.

And yet, I got to see N at school today. I got to play outside with her brothers. They all have (mostly) clean clothes. They have friends over, even when the house is a mess, and I don't even make them wear blindfolds. We have pizza for dinner too often, and McDonald's too often for lunch. I try to make up for it by serving lots of green stuff when I do cook. Even if none of us know exactly what it is.

If these things keep us all a little saner, I tend to think that's OK. Maybe some families can have a clean house, homemade meals every night, matching socks, clean underwear, fitted sheets, and a sane mommy. But not my family.

They get one or the other.

That's the truth.

And I'm OK with that.