I had grand aspirations of being the ultimate parenting expert, akin to a Dr. Oz for moms. However, reality hit me hard when I realized my primary focus would likely need to be on teaching my kids to stop behaving like wild raccoons in public. Honestly, with children aged 10, 8, 6, and 3, I’ve come to terms that perfection in parenting is simply not in the cards for me.
If you’re looking for tips on how to teach toddlers to read or tricks to make veggies less repulsive, you might want to look elsewhere. I can, however, provide a detailed guide on how to patiently observe your child chew on the same piece of broccoli for two hours, before eventually surrendering and allowing them to spit it out.
While I may not be a perfect parent, I certainly love my kids enough to cuddle with them even when they smell a bit off, and I think that counts for a lot.
I’m not the epitome of perfection, but I am enough—and so are you.
I genuinely enjoy spending time with them. There are moments when I can’t help but inhale the scent of their hair and plant a kiss on their cheeks, marveling at how blessed I am. In those fleeting instances, time seems to stand still, and everything feels just right.
Yet, there are also times when I question my ability to survive the chaotic hours between 4 and 8:30 p.m. It’s a test of endurance; I’m convinced it’s possible to perish from excessive exposure to sibling squabbles.
I’m just good enough at bedtime.
Some nights, we snuggle up for storytime, diving into the adventures of the Hardy Boys or the charm of Anne of Green Gables. Other nights, I rush through a bedtime song at lightning speed, punctuating it with a hasty kiss as I dart out of the room like it’s a crisis situation. The kids call after me with a litany of complaints about old water, itchy backs, or twisted underwear. In those moments, I can be found hiding behind the freezer, indulging in cookie dough ice cream, contemplating who will concede first—me or them.
I am together enough.
We gather around the dinner table, sharing meals and laughter. However, I have an unfortunate knack for misplacing school papers, despite their neon colors, and my 6-year-old recently requested, “If you come to my school today, please wear real clothes.” And just in case I missed the point, she later inquired if I remembered my pants.
I am fun enough.
At times, I get overly serious about everything from crumbs to dental hygiene. During lectures, I sometimes have an out-of-body experience, worrying that my kids will only remember me as the grumpy parent. But there are also days filled with laughter, games, hikes, and dance parties in the living room, where I forget about all the chaos and just enjoy being with them.
I’m decent enough at keeping the house in order.
Some days, I sweep crumbs under the couch without a second thought. Other days, I picture the health department knocking at my door, ready to give my home a D- rating. The thought of being forced to dine at my parents’ house every night sounds strangely appealing.
And then there are moments when the vacuum is out, coffeehouse tunes fill the air, and candles are lit.
I am good enough at self-care.
There are times I can’t recall when I last showered, showing up at the grocery store with pillow marks on my face and sweatpants that should have stayed in the drawer. But then there are days when I wear makeup and brush my hair, refusing to let anything, not even a pack of rabid hyenas, keep me from a much-needed ladies’ night.
I am a good enough partner.
I can be a great listener and an inspiring cheerleader; we share laughter and dreams, and he is truly my favorite person. Yet, there are moments when I unleash my frustrations on him, responding with snappy remarks and eye rolls, especially when he needs encouragement, and I respond with, “Why did you do that?” It’s a real hit, I assure you.
I’m adequate enough when it comes to nutrition.
Some evenings are declared pizza nights, complete with paper plates and my guilty pleasure of ranch dressing. On other occasions, I attempt to feed my children organic carrots and spinach, fretting if they’re consuming too much sugar.
I love them enough.
I adore my children in all their messy, chaotic, and hilarious forms. My love for them is boundless, and that love makes everything else I do sufficient.
And let me remind you, it makes everything you do enough too, fellow mama.
We love them enough.
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In summary, while I might not be the perfect mom, my love and commitment to my children make me more than adequate. Embrace your imperfections and know that you are enough too.
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