I’m a Worn-Out ‘Scotch Tape’ Mom Who Adores Her Kids

home insemination Kit

“I can’t believe this! It’s so cringe-worthy!” I overheard my 9-year-old, Jake, exclaim to his 6-year-old twin brothers, Max and Leo.

“What’s so cringe-worthy?” I asked, walking into our playroom where they were engrossed in their Lego creations.

“This!” Jake waved his arm dramatically, trying to encompass the entire space. “This playroom is overflowing with babyish stuff!” The twins nodded vigorously in agreement. “These drawings are just weird! And they’re taped to the walls,” Jake continued disdainfully, pointing at the colorful masterpieces that he and his brothers had crafted over the years at home, preschool, and now elementary school.

I took a step back, taking in the room from a fresh perspective. The walls were adorned with painted soldiers and water-colored gingerbread men made during Christmas, along with hearts glued onto notepaper that listed “All the Reasons We Love Mommy” for Valentine’s Day. There were leprechaun puppets crafted from paper bags, complete with orange yarn hair, and cheerful daisies featuring the round faces of my twins attached to green pipe cleaner stems. A life-sized outline of Jake from when he was just 4 hung nearby, along with “All About Me” posters that we painstakingly created when they started kindergarten.

Jake had surely seen how other moms decorated their kids’ playrooms with creativity, energy, and flair—hanging framed art, creating stylish shadow boxes, and designing gallery walls to display their kids’ artwork tastefully.

When our playroom first came together, I was still recovering from a C-section after moving into our newly built house with my 3-year-old and 5-day-old twins. My in-laws kindly unpacked everything, organized cabinets, and arranged furniture while I sat, exhausted, caring for one baby or the other. I didn’t have the energy to focus on decorating; my sole concern was nurturing my children and minimizing the crying (theirs and mine).

For the following three years, my husband and I navigated the challenging journey of parenthood, and I considered it a successful day if I could squeeze in some playtime amidst the chaos of feeding, diapering, and getting the kids to sleep. Did I sometimes glance around my home and notice the organized, chic, and decorative touches that others had adeptly incorporated? Absolutely. But rather than revving up my nonexistent Martha Stewart energy, I opted for a glass of wine, some mindless TV with my husband, and an early bedtime so I wouldn’t feel completely drained when my kids woke me in the morning.

Consequently, our house remained sparsely decorated and unadorned, save for one room—the playroom. The chaotic, messy, and somewhat embarrassing playroom. I took delight in every piece of my kids’ creativity, even the simplest paint splotches on torn paper, and I grabbed my trusty Scotch tape to showcase their artwork on the bare walls. My efforts, as a weary, uncrafty mom, were the least and the most I could give at the time.

Now that my kids are 9, 6, and 6, the house is still a work in progress, though it has gained more decorative touches. Since finishing the basement, the kids hardly play in the playroom anymore, yet I still dutifully tape their school artwork to its walls.

As I looked around the playroom, I tried to see it through the eyes of those who found it embarrassing—the very kids who helped create this room, while I was busy caring for them. When I widened my gaze, I didn’t just see the clutter of tape and colorful papers; I saw the kind of mother I am: a messy, tired, and imperfect mom who embraces the chaos. A mom who kisses boo-boos, reads bedtime stories, pushes swings, attends baseball games, comforts worries, helps with homework, prepares meals, hosts playdates, and plans birthday parties. A mom who, after all of that, could push herself to create a picture-perfect home but chooses instead to prioritize her own well-being at the end of the day. A mom who, after ensuring her kids have everything they need to thrive, takes that last bit of energy and grabs the Scotch tape to show her kids how proud she is.

As I took a deep breath and began peeling the edges of a rainbow fish off the wall, I didn’t know how long it would take to transform this room into something less embarrassing or even if I’d have the energy to tackle it. The fish, half-flapping off the wall with one crooked sequined eye, seemed to stare back at me, as if to say, “This might hurt you more than it hurts me.”

This article was originally published on Oct. 1, 2015.

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In summary, this piece reflects the beautiful chaos of motherhood. It highlights the balance of caring for children while managing the home, and the pride found in even the simplest displays of creativity. It’s a reminder that perfection isn’t necessary; what matters most is the love and support we provide to our kids.