when I tell you I cried

I carry mom guilt. Not every day, but often enough. I always hope that I didn't screw up too badly as a parent. I have only a few regrets (thankfully?) and I can count them on one hand.  They're always there, in the back of my head, that nagging voice reminding me . 

Mom guilt. It's rough. 

Last weekend I was watching the GrandBaby#1.  She's two and very independent and very much likes to mimic me.  We were having breakfast and I gave her orange juice in a cup.  A cup with no lid.

She did very well and I snapped a pic to send to her mom and her auntie.  The conversation morphed into something unexpected:

Our childhood was the best.

Seeing the Dramas talk about these specific Friday night memories with such fondness made me smile. Something that at the time seemed so small and inconsequential to me.  Yet created such happy memories and left a positive lasting impression.

Reader. When I tell you I cried. Big fat tears. And I felt an overwhelming sense of, I don't even know - relief?  Relief I didn't even know I needed.  

Damn. 

Frusterated Mom

Sometimes I wonder if I’m really a good mom. I mean, I know I’m a good mom because I take care of my kids, I love them with all I’ve got and then some and I would sacrifice anything to provide for them. I feed and clothe them and as much as they need to be beat sometimes, I restrain. I even let them have potato chips for breakfast because some days, its all about picking your battles. Even when they say stuff like “you have a wiggly butt” (the 8 (Drama#2) year old – recently no less) and “I don’t hate you mom. You’re not an Aah-hole” (from the sweet, tender lips of a two year old (Drama#3) at bed time. Many years ago.)

However, sometimes I can feel them irritating every single stinkin’ nerve I’ve got, and the mere sound of their voices make me want to lock myself in the bathroom and never come out. These are the times I question myself. I wonder if other moms go through this too. If other moms play the guilt game with themselves. If they feel guilty because they get to spend only hours with the kids on the weeknights juggling homework, dinner, baths, play time, reading time, TV time and cleanup/bedtime and then on the weekends just wish the kids would spend the night somewhere and give them a few hours peace and quiet.

This was my weekend. Loving them to death but wishing they were not home. Wishing I could just go for a drive and not come home until I felt like it. Or go to the park to read without worrying when I have to leave so dinner will be done on time. But when I see those angelic little faces and I say “good morning girls, time to wake up” and then they track me down to get the good morning hug and “did you have good sleeps” question, it's all worth it to me.