Perfection, With a Side of Chaos

Once upon a time there was a cute little girl who lived in middle America. She had red hair and a fat lip. And she loved children. She had her first babysitting job when she was six years old. She couldn't wait to grow up and have 17 children of her own and be a perfect mom. Everyone knew she would too.

When she played football in the streets with the neighbor kids, she was always one of the first people picked for a team because she was good. But the neighbor kids also hated picking her because if a small child appeared on the scene, she was as good as gone. She loved children and she couldn't wait until she could have some of her own, so she could be the best mom evoh.

Then she grew up and had kids of her own. She had one little boy. And he was adored. Then she had a little girl. She too was adored. Then one day she woke up and suddenly she had three kids, a weight problem, and a messy house.

She wanted very much to be a good mom. In the beginning, it was easy. It required lots of time and care and hugs and kisses. She was good at giving all of these things.

Then the children started to grow. And talk back. Then they became thinkers and question- askers and within 3 years into this venture of motherhood, she was way in over her head. But she kept plodding along. Because she used to have a fat lip. And that's what recovered Fatlips do, they plod along.

One of the biggest surprises to this sweet little redhaired girl when she grew up, was how difficult it actually is to maintain a household, be a good mom, and have energy and a smile for all the many other things she had to do in a day.

But she plodded along.

One day she decided her kids watched too much television. She didn't even have a tv when she was growing up. She tries and tries to recall what her mom did with her all day if they didn't have a tv. She remembers gigantic trash bags full of popcorn, hammering nails into her front lawn, a couple of pyro incidents, and a prematurely lost tooth---but not much else.

Since she knows that it can be done, she resolves every night as she lays in bed, "Tomorrow I will only let the kids watch one show each and my sweet little firstborn son will only spend an hour on the computer." Each day the resolve fail. She sets a place at the dinner table for Uncle Nick Jr. Her daughter's imaginary friends are named, Max, Dora, and Wubbzy. It is a sad, sad state of affairs.

Finally, empowered by having gone to boot camp, gotten 52 loads of laundry done, a basement organized, and a healthy diet maintained for 33 straight hours, she makes the change. The tv is turned off.

There is weeping. There is pleading. There is screeching. There is bargaining. There is ignoring. But she stands her ground and the tv stays off.

She decides to "entertain" the children with enlisting their help in making a pot of soup.

She entices the kids with using a familiar line from a well-loved fable, "Who will help me plant some soup in the soup pot?"

The darling children, who were only moments before screeching and threatening to blind someone, if not themselves, come running gleefully into the kitchen. They stand together on a chair and fight over who gets to dump the onions in the pot.

She is happy. This is better than tv.

Then a brawl over a dropped piece of carrot ensues. She lets her mind drift away to a happier time when Unsupervised Max & Ruby were tending them. There were no carrots. There were no cutting boards in danger of being knocked from the counter. There were no kitchen brawls.

Soon it is time to chop the cabbage.

Helpful child #2 complains that the stove is hot and she doesn't want to burn her arm off ever again. Because she's done it 3 times before? No, because she's dramatic and also doesn't know the meaning of the phrase "ever again".

Sweet Joy of His Mother's heart #1 swipes half the veggies and is tries to fit them in the small, should-be-nonexistent space between the counter and the stove, before she realized where her veggies were going. He exuberantly notes that cabbage is an easier fit than carrots.

And the incessant chatter.
And the whining.
And the endless questions about what things are and where they go and why.

For the love of soup!

Helper #2 climbs down. For the preservation of her arms. She announces, "I'm gonna play with Chowlie and LOW-la."

Helper #1 cries out, "No fay-oh! I'm not gonna get any of this soup if I don't help you make it and she gets to watch tv!" With his bottom lip trembling, he pleads, "Can I please go watch Chahlie and Lola?" Suddenly, he realizes something just as he finishes his sentence. The girl who once loved kids but grew up and had kids of her own, sees the light go off in his eyes, and she wonders what he's figured out.

He jumps off of the chair and yells joyfully, "I CAN watch Chahlie and Lola! I don't have to help you make the soup so I can eat some. I don't even LIKE vegetable soup!"

Innocent little girl who always wanted to be a mom and grew up and now realizes, including the culottes in 2nd grade, the blue eye shadow in eighth grade, and the Aqua-chastity-Net hairdo of 10th grade, she was a pretty stupid child.

There is no such thing as a perfect mom.