The warm weather soothes my soul, yet I yearn for a cool breeze to rush through my hair.
That's how it always is with me, the push and the pull, the happy and the sad. I always want just a little more, or just a little different. Always content, yet unsettled. It's a ridiculous combination that makes no sense.
I want more than anything to be "that" mom. The one with the perfect house, who gets on the floor with the kids, who never yells, who coaches every team and who's kids are involved in x or y or z. Kids coming over to our house to play. Happiness, and laughter, and fun.
I want that so badly.
I'm not there. I don't know that I ever will be. I realize it's not achievable, really. It's a fantasy. Nobody is perfect. But perfection haunts me. It's that whole wanting and being more thing.
But my kids think I'm perfect. They think I'm Super Mom. Even though I seem to always be a step behind the dishes or the laundry, even though I've been too busy nursing to play superheros, even though I lost my temper, even though they aren't signed up for any kind of activity this summer because the van is broke and the baby needs to eat and do you realize how expensive some of this stuff is?
I just want so much more, to do so much more, to be so much more. And it's right there, I'm just a step away from it. It's closing the gap, being mindful of my steps, thinking more than doing that always gets in my way.
I guess the trick is not to try. It's to just do my best, do what I can, in that moment, and embrace whatever happens. They love me anyway. They think I'm great anyway. And that means something. It truly does.
I'm the best mom they've ever had, and I'll sure as heck take that accolade any day of the week.
And I'll try and do a little more tomorrow.
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