Perceptions

Lately, Bug has taken an interest in telling me, "You're the best mom," or, "You're the best mom for me." He tells me this in times when I haven't done anything particularly remarkable, or even loving. More often than not, I'm staring at my computer working on writing something, or just wasting time. Trying to fill up my patience bucket again for the next round of homeschooling.

I can't see what it is in me that makes him say that. More and more, I'm remembering the times when I've lost my temper with the kids, or shooed them downstairs so I can be alone, rather than spend time playing with them. I almost encourage them to spend a lot of time on the computer, if only so I can enjoy reading or simply just not having to be with them. I look more forward to the times when I can get away for social functions rather than the time I am here with them. In short, the times I remember are the times that I'm really not being a great mom, or even a mediocre one. Sure, they are still alive. Something should count toward that, but none of my achievements seem to add up to being the "best mom." Goodness, I don't even cook for them, or make lunch for them.

His perception of me and my perception of me are quite different, you see. I don't think it will ever be possible for me to see myself the way he does. And I'm not even going to try. But these difference of opinions makes me ... thoughtful. Thoughtful enough to write a blog post about it, even if I don't really know where I'm going with this.

Earlier today I found out that Bug had wasted a whole hour of school time because he thought that he had already done the assignment the teacher had told him to do when he actually hadn't. Somehow, I didn't find myself yelling and being upset at him for that - other days I might have. I just explained to him how he got confused, and then we started working on the assignment. We spent another hour working on it, and I admit, I got a little heated at times. I would ask him a question and he would sit there silent for over ten minutes, playing with his feet. So yes, I got upset. I wasn't even having him do the actual writing (it was an opinion essay assignment), I was writing down whatever he said - but he hadn't said anything.

We finished filling out the little chart thing meant to help him organize his thoughts and then I typed it up in the program to grade it. I explained to him about how the chart is only the blueprint of the essay, and it shouldn't be turned in as the final. I told him that he wouldn't get a good grade if he turned it in that way - he should use the blueprint as a guideline and use it as a way to expand his thoughts and talk a little more about the subject. Then I made a hard choice. I could tell that I couldn't get much more work out of him anymore, because I had gotten upset, and he was upset because of that, and the length of times it took him to come up with one solitary sentence was becoming longer and longer. So I said, "Here's the deal - you won't get a good grade if you keep it like this. We can save it and come back to it tomorrow after you've had a chance to think about it a little bit more, or we can just turn it in like it is. But know that this blueprint essay doesn't work well as a final, and your score will not be very good. But it's your choice." He chose to turn it in, and like I had told him, he got 12 out of 30.

I think that was the first time of my parenting life where I truly gave him the decision to make his own mistake. I probably have done it other times, but this one, I could have easily taken it out of his hands and said, "Okay, that's good for today, we'll work on it more tomorrow." I know that letting our kids make their own mistakes is good for them. And I assumed it would be hard. I just hadn't expected to feel like a horrible mom for doing so. Granted, I made some great mommy decisions in that two hour span. I didn't yell at him for his misunderstanding, and though I did get upset a few times while working on the assignment, I also allowed him to make his own mistake. Yet I felt like crap afterward. It was a mixture of wanting to punch things really hard and wanting to curl up in a ball and cry. I ended up going to the store to get Oreos, but that's beside the point.

I have gotten better at acknowledging my worth. At believing that I just might be a good person. At not hating myself. But now I'm not sure those apply to my abilities to be a good mom. Something in this life, maybe in this society, or perhaps in this generation makes moms feel not good enough. People talk ill against stay-at-home moms, people talk ill about working moms, people talk ill about moms who let their kids play on too much electronics, or about moms who don't give them enough electronic time. I'm not sure how much stock I put in those perceptions, but I probably put in more than I think I do. In fact, above, I already listed too much electronics as one reason why I'm not a good mom. But there is something in life/society/this generation, or even wired in the women themselves that makes them feel "not good enough." But perhaps to your kids, you, exactly as you are, are good enough. I'm not sure how much I feel about that sentiment myself, but I wish I hadn't felt that horrible after I had let my child grow on his own. And I certainly don't want other moms to feel that way either, though I know they do.

Maybe not to the world, or society, or so and so's mom, or even to yourself, you feel like you aren't good enough or that you don't measure up. But to your kids, you just might. And that's all that really matters.