The Bad Mother

I am a bad mother.


I buy birthday cakes for my children at the grocery store. I don't make those hours-long, fondant-covered colorful creations that would impress even the great Martha Stewart. In fact, you would be lucky to find enough birthday candles in my house for the cake. This year, I could only hunt down three, so when DaughterNotSo had her fifth birthday, she blew out the first three and I relighted two for her to blow out again. And when we had a birthday party for her with her little friends, I bought a number "4" for her cake instead of a "5". Fail.


I don't do DaughterNotSo's hair everyday. I rarely make those hair creations with the twists and braids, and bows, and floral arrangements other moms create. I do try to have it brushed though, but most of the time she looks like she could belong in an orphanage with Little Orphan Annie. I cut SonNotSo's hair by myself and he hates it. The poor kid ends up with hair in his eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and bellybutton. I think I am going to buzz his hair for the summer just to ease the process for me.


Sometimes I recycle outfits they have worn from the day before. A few stains can last through another day. Sometimes their clothes are wrinkled from staying in the dryer for days because I haven't gotten around to folding them and I have a pile of button-up shirts that need to be ironed for the kids. I question my sanity as to why I even bought clothing that would need to be pressed. 


My children don't get bathed everyday and sometimes playing out in the sprinkler is counted as a bath. When they do get bathed, I leave them in the tub just so I can have a moment to meditate on my bed as they splash around, making a swampy mess. I should really be doing something like straightening up their rooms from days of neglected ciaos.


Feeding the kids 3 square meals everyday is even rarer than folded laundry. Getting SonNotSo to eat veggies and coaxing DaughterNotSo to eat her meal without issue, would be like a New Testament miracle. Sometimes I forget to give them their gummy vitamins. Most of the time, DaughterNotSo reminds me.


Yes. I am a bad mother. No pretenses here. I hardly pretend to be a perfect mother who has it all together. Putting on a facade of perfectionism would require more work. If you bump into us at the store, the kids may have crusts on their faces and stains on the clothes and their hair will probably look unkempt.


You may even wonder what my problem is...


Now if between the crusts of gunk on their cheeks and sleep in their eyes, I could just wipe the smiles off their faces, I could be a worse mother.