Monday was not a good day.
We managed to get to play group and enjoy ourselves, but it was a battle to get out the door. Then, it was a battle to get everyone on board with coming back home. After lunch, Mini Muffin decided that her afternoon nap was not going to happen. Little Smiling Man, after being awake all morning, slept less than an hour. At 1:38, it was official. Everyone was up, no one had any intention of sleeping, and everyone was miserable because they were tired. As the afternoon went on my nerves got frazzled, the kids just roamed around playing at will, and my patience was soon in as short supply as structured and educational activities. Little Smiling Man was teething hard, and becoming more distraught as the afternoon progressed due to fatigue. Mini Muffin was sure that she wasn't tired, even though she was exhausted and irrational. I briefly considered calling my husband and asking him to come home from work early; I felt like I was failing so badly at the whole parenting thing.
By some wondrous occurrence of telepathy, he arrived home at 4:00; an hour and a half earlier than usual! He found me trying to comfort Little Smiling Man in his room, and Mini Muffin in her room with pretty much every toy strewn on the floor. I cried. My husband jumped into action, he was amazing! He made Mini Muffin and I a smoothie to help even us out, spent sticker time with Mini Muffin and when Little Smiling Man decided that five minute's sleep was plenty and woke up screaming he went to get him and kept him entertained. All of this gave me a bit of time to compose myself, look around my disaster of a kitchen, and figure out what to feed the kids for supper. Mini Muffin ended up with a peanut butter sandwich, glass of milk and an orange. Little Smiling Man got a collection of whatever was in the fridge. Hubby and I made due to cheese and crackers. Thankfully everyone was asleep by 7:30, and by 7:45 the kitchen was somewhat straightened and I collapsed onto the couch with tortilla chips, salsa and a fluffy movie on Netflix. I was in bed at 8:45, and doing a pretty good job of beating myself up over this failure of a day. My husband, bless him, was his usual supportive self and assured me that it wasn't all that bad and that I was doing a good job.
After some rest though, I got to thinking. Maybe he was right and it wasn't so bad after all? In my working life, I accept that some days are better than others. I have super productive days, and I have not so productive days. I have days when I feel like I could conquer the world, and days when I just can't seem to win. On the days that don't go so well, I come home, get some strength from my family, lick my wounds, and go on to face the next day. Not the end of the world. Yet, as a mama, I expect that every day is going to be great. There will be smiles, fun, good memories, engaging activities. Every day will be a win, and every day I'll conquer the mommy world. Maybe the problem was not my bad day, maybe my expectations of myself are actually the problem.
At the end of the day, my kids still know that they're loved even if I'm short with them now and then. They were safe. They were dressed and fed. Heck, they were even bathed. I think I need to remind myself that all of those things are the most important wins on any given day, the rest is just gravy.
Tuesday was a whole new day. I cut myself some mommy slack, and just went with it. We had fun; we read stories, worked on puzzles and sticker activities, visited the Science Centre, and while Mini Muffin chose not to nap again (ugh), we all had a lovely afternoon. There was playing outside, and a properly cooked dinner. There were bedtime snuggles, and little angels tucked into their beds. Tuesday was a day that I felt like I won.
The moral of this story? Not every day is rosy, and that's okay. So long as the kids have the basics and are loved, it's time for me to cut myself some slack and just go with it. Even Mama is human and is allowed an off day every now and then, right?
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