‘...a song to sing. To
help me cope with anything’.
Anyone else hear this in their head when they think about
having a dream? Especially the Amanda Seyfreid version from Mama Mia. No? Just
me then, I guess. Move along, nothing weird here.
I have a dream occasionally that one day I’ll wake up
completely put-together.
You know what I mean, don’t you? Flawless hair, impeccable
dress sense and mad skills with makeup, yes.
But beyond that (and aside from
it, really) I dream fervently about being the mum who does it all flawlessly.
The mum who breezes out of bed, readies her husband and sends him to work
smiling with a belly full of homestyle cookin’ and a lunchbox full of healthy
homemade snacks, prepares the kids for school/daycare – again with the
excellent food. Cruises to school with all homework complete, helps out in the canteen,
comes home and plays with the baby undistractedly for hours. The mum who spends
naptime giving her sparklingly clean house a quick once-over and then has a
lunch date with friends before going to school pickup and heading home to
prepare a thoughtfully planned, nutritionally beneficial meal, clean and tuck
in her kids before relaxing with her husband. I dream of doing it all alone,
with no snags or flaws, and without tears of pleas for help.
I’m not that mum. If she exists, I want to know about it,
because I want to pull her perfectly-coiffed hair and tell her she’s a liar.
My dream isn’t going to come true. I’m the mum who isn’t
getting out of bed at 5am to get her husband ready for work (seriously, he’s on
his own there). I’m the mum fighting the kindergartner to eat her breakfast
while the baby flings porridge at my head, at the same time realising we forgot
the reader last night and I’ve run out of lunch muffins. I’m the mum who
remembers canteen duty 20 minutes before it starts, on a day when I don’t have
a babysitter ready. The mum who’s barely left her house in weeks, and hasn’t
had a social life in months. I’m the mum who realises at 6pm that she hasn’t
defrosted dinner and makes bacon and egg salad, before skipping bathtime and
sending the kids to bed so I can have a quick reprieve before the baby wakes.
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Maybe if I had animal helpers and a Fairy Godsomeone... Image Source |
My heart wishes my kids had the perfect mum. The one who
never misses appointments, who reads endless stories every night and who takes them
on educationally enriching, yet entertaining trips every weekend. But my head
knows the truth about me and the truth about my kids. My head knows that I get to watch them grow, and be their mummy, and that's enough. My head is grateful.
I’m never going to be the put together mum, because it’s not
me. I’m the slightly scatty mum wearing yoga pants everywhere. But I’m also the
only mum my kids have. I’m the one who kisses their scrapes, smooths away their
troubles, plays games with them, cuddles them every single night and generally
takes care of them. I’m the one who makes sure they never go hungry, even if
occasionally they eat a 2 minute noodle omelette. I’m the one who will always
be there.
I may not be the
perfect mum, and how the hell can I be? She’s a myth! But I’m their perfect mum, put together just
enough for them. A dream is just a fantasy. I should just be happy I do the best I can. Because in reality? I do OK.
'I'll cross the stream, I have a dream.'
I'm linking this post with
Musings of the Misguided for this week's The Lounge, and also with
A Parenting Life for Thankful Thursday. Pop over to visit and find some more fab blogs to read?
Tired of my introspect? Got a question? Want to see a specific post or topic from me? Why not comment below, or send me an email!