You. Yes, you. The Holier-than-Thou, mom of the year runner up. I forgive you. For throwing stones at me from your glass house.
I don't pretend to be perfect. Ever. I'm actually pretty blunt about my follies as a parent, wife, and housekeeper. There are things that work for me and mine that you may never consider to try for you and yours. And that's ok. It's more than ok. It's perfect, because it's natural.
I don't know what you're trying to compensate for by attacking my choices. Sneering at the way I spend my free time. Pitying my children, because what you see of me is via social media.
Assuming that, because I blog and use several social media outlets simultaneously, my children are neglected or less loved than yours.
What you don't see between my internet activities is...
the food made from scratch,
the kisses on every toe during diaper changes,
the time I take to fix my daughter's hair in that day's requested style,
the stuffing of toys in shirts so we're all wearing 'babies,'
the load of cloth diapers just put in the wash,
the spills that are cleaned,
the scrapes that are bandaged,
the fights that are separated,
the little bodies crammed onto my every shrinking lap to watch silly things on the computer,
the talks about animals,
the pages that are colored,
the gentle games of indoor toss,
the nails that are painted,
the backs that are rubbed,
the books that are read,
the airplanes that are watched,
the bugs that are discovered,
the dishes that are washed and promptly dirtied again with more of that food made from scratch,
the flowers that are smelled,
the hiding places that are discovered,
the new words that are learned,
the songs that are sung,
that made from scratch food that is swept off the floor,
the pullups we practice,
the make believe meals that are brought to me,
the tantrums,
the budget balancing,
the puppet shows,
the stuff purging,
the failed attempts at taking a shower because I choose to spend time with my kids instead,
the walking 6 blocks to pick up my daughter from school and let my boys play,
the visits with our neighbors,
the jump roping,
the late nights I spent reading and gathering blogging material after all my household obligations are done,
the ball pit wars,
the piles of laundry folded,
the dance parties we have,
the fashion shows we're given,
the school functions we attend,
the naps we take,
the wet beds changed,
the innumerable bathroom breaks,
the movies that are watched together,
the play dates that are planned,
the games of pretend that are played,
the discussions I've had with my husband about choosing a day of the week for me to focus on the things that I enjoy doing besides mothering.
And, because there's no way you could have known any of that unless I post about it on social media, I forgive you.
I hope that next time, instead of attempting to shame me for the outlets I choose to use on my me day and in my frequent and short spare moments, you choose to be kind and applaud me for having a passion other than my children.
There is no parenting contest. If there was, I can assure you there would be no winner.
UPDATE: Shortly after posting this, a fellow blogger brought this amazing piece by The Hands Free Mama to my attention. Here is an excerpt, but I encourage you to go read her full post. It. Is. Beautiful.
"We need this validation. We need to know we’re doing something right.
We need to know our children are going to turn out okay despite it all.
We need to know love prevails over failures, flaws, and imperfect days.
Because sometimes the “experts,” the psychologists, the well-meaning
friends, the sweet ladies in line behind us at Starbucks, and the
critics inside our head suggest otherwise … making us feel like there is
more to it than just loving them."
the ball pit wars,
