I’ve written three blog posts and erased them so far. Not because they say something bad, or are unnecessarily negative or anything. They just don’t communicate what I’m thinking.
My brain is such a jumble. I try to paint and don’t like what I paint. I try and read and get distracted. My hip flexors hurt and all this good food is giving me junk food munchies.
It’s hot out, and my car needs to be vacuumed like you wouldn’t believe. There is enough graham cracker pulverized into my carpet to make 14 cheesecake crusts.
Aaron holds down the housework and the chores and the food, and I try and juggle babies with a full time job and twice daily workouts and art and maybe thinking my own thoughts in peace for half an hour. By 8:30 last night I was ready for bed.
My hair needs cutting (why IS a Raven like a Writing Desk?!) and I love the smell of my lotion (Jergens summery tan lotion).
I guess lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the expectations we put on ourselves. Get married. Get a job. Have kids. Grow your own food. Don’t eat/use/wear chemicals. etc etc.
So many of my friends are super moms. They do wonderful things like make their children fresh juice, or paint them a chalkboard wall, or homeschool and garden and make long trips to hospitals day in and day out.
They are all so amazing. I have friends who don’t have kids of their own, and they are moms too. They’ve had children, and lost them, had other children, adopted children or simply have the hearts of a mother.
Not one of them would say to you, “Oh yeah, I’m a super-mom.” They just do what they do because they are amazing women. Women who just happened to have children, or not. Women who care about kids, and how they grow up and where that growing up happens.
Next time you are kicking yourself for not being super mom, just shake it off, relax your shoulders, and say to yourself, “My cape’s at the cleaners.”