A friend recently remarked that she was super impressed with how much fun, enriching stuff I do with my kids. She mentioned seeing a group of photos I’d posted on social media of an outing my daughter and I took to a local farm, where we pet a lamb.
It had been an enchanting excursion. I won’t deny it. We were by the ocean and the scenery was lush and pastoral. Emily chased after chickens and we walked up to a fence to look at a bull with gigantic horns that looked like something out of a story book.
Then we got into the car to go home and Emily told me I was the worst mom in the world and she hated me because I wasn’t taking her to a restaurant for lunch.
So, I thanked my friend for her compliment of my pictures. And then I let her know Emily’s five-year-old opinion of me.
Sure I could have taken the compliment and allowed my ego to be stroked. But I happen to believe reality is important.
I also let my friend know that every photo of us doing something energetic and interesting represents a minuscule slice of our actual existence.
For every five minutes we are out doing something exotic, there are about three hours spent lolling around the house watching television, having tantrums, bickering, eye rolling, and sighing. Heavily.
I also do not incorporate photos of my never-ending laundry, toilet scrubbing, and refereeing sibling rivalry on social media. No one does. We all post the highlight reels. We post the pics that say “Look at me winning this impossible quest!”
We perpetuate our own mythology along with the collective mythology of modern day parenting.
It’s what we all do. Sorrynotsorry. No regrets. Because we are all on this seemingly never-ending struggle bus ride fraught with constant motion sickness and punctuated with momentary glimpses of something lovely out the window.
We all do it, but we all forget that we do it. That’s the problem. And that’s what leads us to compare with one another and feel like everyone else is out there having a better time. All the other moms are out there momming better, harder, and faster than we are.
Summertime seems to highlight this dynamic. At least it does for me. There seems to be this unspoken expectation that we are all going to be shiny, happy summer people, and that in addition to all the normal mom duties, we are also going to bring it in the areas of crafts, activities, and day trips to exotic ports of call like we are a deranged cruise director. Oh, and shit, I forgot about incorporating baking and sensory play. Gotta do it all.
I’m here to tell you, you do not have to do it all. I’m here to tell you, it is perfectly okay if this flurry of activity is not a realistic expectation for you. If you are tired, frustrated, or out of good ideas– it is all okay. If you just don’t feel like going outside today, also okay. Stay on the couch. Put in some Disney or Doctor Who. It’s all good. We all eventually get to the same place.
I personally don’t have the time or energy for being super creative mom of the year.
Of course it is important to do things with our children. In no way do I espouse neglect or unlimited screen time. Balance is key. Exercise is important. Hugs count. But…..
We do not need to be in constant motion and contact with our kids.
Kids need a break too. I’ll speak for me and mine. As a children of working parents, my kids have really long days– as long or longer than mine sometimes. Emily can usually be flexible and roll with the flow, but Jack needs a lot more down time. This makes it even trickier to balance their needs with my own. Societal demands, pressures, and expectations have no place in this equation for me.
It’s really hard not to let the social media highlight reels feed into the mythology of what summer and parenting is “supposed to be”. A lot of people I know have gotten off of social media for just that reason.
I’m learning to enjoy the posts of other parents without feeling threatened or pressured to do and be more, more, more. Because really, we are all already doing more than enough.
We are all more than mom enough.