The Best Of Me

Always be a first-rate version of yourself,

instead of a second-rate version of somebody else.  

~ Judy Garland

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I wish I could give the best of myself every day.  Now, I know some of you are saying well, then just do it!  For me, it's not that easy. I'm human. I slip up. I get moody. Sad. And in general, life just gets in the way.  Most days, I wish I were super woman. Able to cook, clean, have a pristine house, and hold it all together while wearing a perfectly styled hairdo. It just doesn't work that way.  Mostly, it makes me sad to realize that my family never seems to get that best of me opportunity.  We exude it all day (or at least attempt to) with co-workers, gas station attendants, customers and generally anyone else we come into contact with.  Yet my poor family gets the leftovers.  I don't know about you, but I've never been much of a leftover fan.  

I recently shared with a friend who just had a baby who is struggling with her new found motherhood that what no one prepared me for in parenthood was the immense guilt I would feel.  Guilt over missed poopy diapers that result in a rash.  Guilt over missed book order deadlines.  Guilt over throwing out that birthday party invite with the 9,000 pieces of paper your child brings home from kindergarten (I'm beginning to think #2 has killed an entire tree single-handedly).  Guilt over not being able to be the homeroom mom.  Guilt that I can't go on the field trip as I have to work.  Guilt that I forgot to save the old toilet paper rolls for some sort of class project. Guilt that some days my kid was the first dropped off at daycare and the last to be picked up.  Guilt that consumes me some days like a giant blanket you've wrapped yourself in and can't seem to find a way out.  Guilt that prevents me from giving the best of me.  It's really a viscous cycle.  

The struggle is so real for moms.  I find myself particularly immersed in the image painted of how our lives are to be: scheduled, on-time, relentless...perfect. I can't paint myself into that picture as hard as I might try.  Most days I feel I may crack under the pressure.  It's simply just too much.  My kids are strewn around as collateral damage from two overworked parents.  Enter guilt.

Why is it so hard to give the best of ourselves?  My poor kids end up getting a mom who is tired, stressed, and would bribe nearly anyone to handle bath night (have I mentioned I really hate bath night?).  Is that fair?  Is it right they rarely get the best I have to offer them because of things completely out of their control?  I even got hard evidence of how this affects my kids when #1 asked one day, "Mom, I wish every day was like camping.  Dad is so happy when we go camping."  Ugh!  She jabbed me right in the mommy feels!  Enter guilt.  

We live in a world where we are some of the most connected individuals ever.  I don't know about you, but I have a device for nearly everything that keeps me at just a mere thumb's length from any email, customer request, question, negative lunch account balance, or Kohl's sale.  I even get a push notification on my phone when #1 has a grade posted.  I am more "in the know" than I probably even need to be.  Modern convenience has given way to mommy chaos.  Too many times I have found myself immersed in some article I found on Twitter than hearing #2 yell my name 17 times.  Enter guilt.  

It's all about choices.  I know that.  I also know many of you are judging me right now for my choices. I can't go back and change what's been done. All I can do is attempt to change what is to come.  Disconnecting is not as easy as one may think when there are serious, real-life adult reasons to be connected.  Obviously, I'm no poster child for work/life balance. Enter guilt.

Much like being kind, I'm not sure I've ever understood why we give our best to complete strangers and sometimes take our complete worst home. That, my friends, is what I've realized is true love. Love from those who don't always get our best self and come back the next day for more. People who tolerate the bad moods, the yelling, the burned dinners, and sometimes the dinners that are late. Enter guilt.  

I've come to realize when my children look at me they see something much different than what I think I portray to them.  They see someone who is accomplished, kind-hearted, and who works hard for things that are really important.  And sometimes even harder for things that are not.  While this is all my perspective, I thought I'd go straight to a good source. Enter daughter of the year #1.

I asked #1 tonight how she would describe me as a parent.  Here is what she said:
"You work hard day and night."
"You care about us."
"You do a good job as a mom."

I asked her what I could do more (or less) of, fully preparing myself to hear I yell too much and I have too little patience.  

"You could spend a little more time with us."  Kapow!  Enter guilt. "But," she continued, "we could help you out more so you can spend more time with us."

That's when it dawned on me. Maybe the best of me is not the picture I've been trying to paint myself into.  Maybe the best of me simply is just what I give every day.  Maybe good enough is good enough.  Maybe the guilt I feel equates to appreciation for how hard I work for my family.  Today I was reminded that I truly am my harshest critic.  My kids don't want a homeroom mom, less device usage, book orders or even empty toilet paper rolls. They just want me as I am. Something I can give 100% of every day.  

Exit guilt.  At least for the rest of today.