I've been making a lot of lemonade these past few weeks. Not in a set up a little stall with buntings next to the road and selling iced cold drinks kind of way. More like a if God gave you lemons kind if way.
Going back to work has been nothing short of amazing. The rusted parts of my brain have been oiled and put to good use, and regular family life is carrying on with little disturbances.
But I've been doing quite a bit of thinking of late. I blame alone-travel time.
There's so much more that I want to do with the kids. So many more places that I want to explore with them. Sometimes I plan, sometimes I decide on the spur of the moment.
But my mood dips the moment the 6-year old decides that she'd rather stay home in her pajamas and read than visit some awesome place that I'd researched on. A place I know she would absolutely enjoy, if she'd only let me bring her out of the house. Without a scowl on her face or 20 minutes of the "We're going/But I don't want to go/We haven't been out of the house today/But I want to stay home" debate.
Sometimes we make it out of the house, sometimes we don't. But sometimes it's hard to remind myself that I'm the adult, and she's a child, and I shouldn't let her mood affect mine, and that it isn't her responsibility but mine to cater for multiple Plan Bs. Sometimes though, I may be an adult, but I'm also human.
A human who's also a mum. A mum who also needs to take care of the needs of the family on top of contributing toward paying household bills.
Needs like, say.... fruits? You know, those colourful edible balls you see at the supermarket? You can either crunch into them or cut them up? They're usually sweet and juicy? And have seeds? Those things, yes. I think my family may not know fruits if I didn't buy them, cut them, and bring them to the table. When I teach my kids about how plants grow, they must think I'm crazy to tell them about soil and seeds and fertilizers because to them, fruits simply appear at the dinner table, all cut up into bite sized portions with little forks stuck in them.
There is definitely a direct relation between the number of hours I work, and the amount of fruit my family eats. It's come to a point where I make my husband promise to buy fruits regularly for the kids if I should so die before he does.
But, Vitamin C discussions aside, there's also the "I really have to rush this assignment but I also have the kids with me" guilt trip. I think that many mums believe that the level of how good or bad a mother is, is pegged at mum's level of exhaustion at the end of the day.
For instance, if your energy is hovering at the dangerous red zone level of about 3% and you will absolutely need to be peeled off the floor if you don't have another (maybe your third or fourth) coffee, but yet you drag yourself to read a bedtime story to the kids and they fall asleep without any screaming or crying (either yours or theirs) then congratulations, you are the winner of the Best Mum Award. But if at the end of the day, you're still skipping around scrolling on Facebook while there are still unwashed paintbrushes on the dining table and dirty socks on the bathroom floor then my goodness me, do you really call yourself a mother? You know, stuff like that.
I think that as mums, we complain a lot about how people from all over are judging us and our choices - if we sling our babies, if we give them juice before they turn 2, if they eat fries, if they play in the sand, if they go to childcare, if they watch TV, if they run around barefooted, if they forget to brush their teeth - but we are the worst judges of all.
We want to do everything and cannot accept that it is impossible to do everything. We cannot accept that we are not, like our friends like to call us, "Supermum", who can juggle a million tasks and never feel tired. It's not possible, it really isn't. It's not possible to work, and be physically there for the kids, and to treat them equally, give the spouse equal attention, have a hobby, meet up with friends, and maintain the house all the time. Something's got to give. Some sacrificices have to be made. Sometimes we have to - much as I dislike the word - outsource some tasks.
We can have everything, just in different percentages and quantities. We need to remind ourselves that it's OK not to know everything. It's OK to not have all the answers. It's OK to make mistakes. We need to accept help from others when we can't manage, and recognise when we can't manage. And once we can accept that, we will feel less guilty about everything. Or at least I hope. I'm still striving for guilt-free parenting.
Sometimes we make it out of the house, sometimes we don't. But sometimes it's hard to remind myself that I'm the adult, and she's a child, and I shouldn't let her mood affect mine, and that it isn't her responsibility but mine to cater for multiple Plan Bs. Sometimes though, I may be an adult, but I'm also human.
A human who's also a mum. A mum who also needs to take care of the needs of the family on top of contributing toward paying household bills.
Needs like, say.... fruits? You know, those colourful edible balls you see at the supermarket? You can either crunch into them or cut them up? They're usually sweet and juicy? And have seeds? Those things, yes. I think my family may not know fruits if I didn't buy them, cut them, and bring them to the table. When I teach my kids about how plants grow, they must think I'm crazy to tell them about soil and seeds and fertilizers because to them, fruits simply appear at the dinner table, all cut up into bite sized portions with little forks stuck in them.
There is definitely a direct relation between the number of hours I work, and the amount of fruit my family eats. It's come to a point where I make my husband promise to buy fruits regularly for the kids if I should so die before he does.
But, Vitamin C discussions aside, there's also the "I really have to rush this assignment but I also have the kids with me" guilt trip. I think that many mums believe that the level of how good or bad a mother is, is pegged at mum's level of exhaustion at the end of the day.
For instance, if your energy is hovering at the dangerous red zone level of about 3% and you will absolutely need to be peeled off the floor if you don't have another (maybe your third or fourth) coffee, but yet you drag yourself to read a bedtime story to the kids and they fall asleep without any screaming or crying (either yours or theirs) then congratulations, you are the winner of the Best Mum Award. But if at the end of the day, you're still skipping around scrolling on Facebook while there are still unwashed paintbrushes on the dining table and dirty socks on the bathroom floor then my goodness me, do you really call yourself a mother? You know, stuff like that.
I think that as mums, we complain a lot about how people from all over are judging us and our choices - if we sling our babies, if we give them juice before they turn 2, if they eat fries, if they play in the sand, if they go to childcare, if they watch TV, if they run around barefooted, if they forget to brush their teeth - but we are the worst judges of all.
We want to do everything and cannot accept that it is impossible to do everything. We cannot accept that we are not, like our friends like to call us, "Supermum", who can juggle a million tasks and never feel tired. It's not possible, it really isn't. It's not possible to work, and be physically there for the kids, and to treat them equally, give the spouse equal attention, have a hobby, meet up with friends, and maintain the house all the time. Something's got to give. Some sacrificices have to be made. Sometimes we have to - much as I dislike the word - outsource some tasks.
We can have everything, just in different percentages and quantities. We need to remind ourselves that it's OK not to know everything. It's OK to not have all the answers. It's OK to make mistakes. We need to accept help from others when we can't manage, and recognise when we can't manage. And once we can accept that, we will feel less guilty about everything. Or at least I hope. I'm still striving for guilt-free parenting.
