I’ve paced, I’ve fumed, I’ve cried, and yes, I’ve even felt like tossing my cookies. But after a long, hot shower, a glass of wine, a few gluten-free cake pops, and a little bit of relaxation medication, I’m ready to dive in.
Let’s do this.
I absolutely adore being a mom. For about 72.3% of the time, motherhood is a fantastic journey. Am I a yeller? Sure. Do I sometimes eat my feelings? Guilty as charged. A Pop-Tart here and there might not be the best for my health, but at least I haven’t harmed anyone else—so, score one for me! And yes, I’ve been known to overanalyze how others parent and admit that I’m responsible for raising these wonderful humans. (Counseling funds are set aside; we’re prepared!)
But here’s the thing: my kids are their own people. They have their own thoughts, opinions, and quirks that are separate from my craziness.
One of them recently stood up as a bridesmaid at a same-sex wedding. Another proudly sports Bernie Sanders shirts and genuinely believes he still has a shot at the presidency. And then there’s the one with the “I won’t give up my gun” bumper sticker. None of these views are exactly what my partner and I expected to instill in them.
For those who don’t know me, we thought we were such stellar parents that we brought three more kids into our family through foster care and adoption. One of them? A notorious biter—think T-Rex level. Another? He never stops chatting and has no filter, asking questions like, “Why is your head so big?” or declaring his disdain for my favorite baby doll.
After dealing with those two, whom we affectionately call our little vandals, I tend to keep silent when kids tumble into tiger enclosures or shark tanks at the zoo, because, let’s face it, we’re probably going to make the news one day.
I really don’t want to be “that mom”—the one nervously standing by a police car while firefighters figure out how to shut down the power grid to save my kids from electrocution. I wring my hands, pray, and wonder, “How on earth did they get a KFC hot air balloon?”
Believe me, I do watch over them. I guide them, and I pray for them. I cut the crusts off their sandwiches, clean their ears, and clip their nails.
Still, they’re a hot mess.
Our 14-year-old can play the piano by ear, a talent she’s had since she was two. She can also sing—really sing. And honestly, we take no credit for her abilities. In fact, it’s a little eerie. We sleep with our door locked out of fear that she might unleash her fiery wrath at any moment.
We’re thrilled she has these gifts and daydream that they’ll fund her college education. We imagine her becoming rich and famous and caring for us in our old age. But here’s the kicker: her achievements are hers, not ours. She’s a separate entity, a unique individual.
Society often links our parenting skills to our children’s success. If a kid messes up, it’s all on the mom: “She must have really messed that kid up.”
I won’t argue that point. I probably did make mistakes. However, there are also traits that kids come pre-packaged with, parts of who they are that I had no say in.
On my bookshelves, you’ll find well-worn books about strong-willed, defiant, and learning-challenged kids. My journals are filled with the prayers of a frazzled mom trying to make sense of it all. My blog chronicles the ups and downs of motherhood, from military schools to failed home-schooling, and even some hair-raising police encounters.
In my heart, you’ll find the pieces of a woman determined to raise healthy, happy, decent humans who fear God. They are part of me, yet they are also wholly separate.
Yes, my kids will achieve amazing things. But I can guarantee they’ll stumble, too. They might offend people, face legal trouble, or lead someone astray. While I hope for the best, I know I can’t mold them into perfection.
Recently, while at Target, I noticed a young mom struggling with her special needs child. The boy was having a meltdown, and the looks she received from others were just heartbreaking. My daughter, another mom, and I stepped in to help her with her purchase and to get her and her son to the car. She was sweating and crying as we buckled her son into his car seat, sobbing, “I’m not a bad mom. I’m doing my absolute best. He means the world to me…”
These children are indeed a part of us, but they are also entirely their own beings with unique talents, flaws, and life paths. One may need medication, another might find themselves in trouble, while one could potentially discover a cure for cancer. They are all individuals, separate from my dreams and aspirations for them.
I wrote this piece for myself—and for that mom at Target—to remind us both: my kids aren’t perfect, and neither am I. But I am a good mom.
For more insights and resources on parenting, check out this excellent guide on home insemination. It’s one of our other blog posts that provides great information on the topic, including the significance of the right tools from authorities like Make A Mom.
In summary, we often carry the weight of our children’s actions, but it’s essential to recognize that while we influence their lives, they are ultimately their own people.