(Ooooooo, snarky, snarky - and on Mother's Day!)
Actually, true to form, I am speaking of myself. I have mentioned various places on this blog that I know it's not all about me and yet somehow each post ends up being just that. I just can't seem to get away from myself. Or over myself.
Is it just me or does anyone else feel slightly mortified when Mother's Day rolls around? I love being a mother, don't get me wrong. I even love my children on most days.
But I am not sure I live up to the hype. Hence the reason for the title of this post. Until seven years ago, I was under the impression that I would sail through motherhood with grace and finesse. (Grace and Finesse. Such lofty goals. If I had only known . . .) Most days I am focused on just surviving the day without dying from sheer exhaustion -- or frustration. Often both loom largely in my day.
Although, I must admit that now that all of my children wear "big boy/girl" underpants and sleep through the night, my chances for retaining my sanity have increased dramatically. Especially on those rare occasions that not only do my two youngest children nap, but I manage to eek out a few moments of dozing pleasure myself.
Just as a side note, my oldest child just turned seven last week. And I am horrified at the realization that I did not manage to crank out a beautifully composed ode to commemorate his birth to live on in the annals of Internet glory.
See, what I mean? Mother-Of-The-Year, I am not. And yet, in spite of all my foibles, today my children had some wonderfully nice things to say and gave me handmade trinkets that I will cherish forever. I hope I actually live up to their sweet words -- at least in their minds.
Now, if I could just convince them to turn down the t.v. a little bit, I could possibly sneak in a nap while they aren't looking . . . but, I'm not holding my breath.