Wonder Mom Vs. Fallible Mom

One of the many thing(s) I struggle with as a mom is how much of 'me' I allow my children to see.

I want my children to know I'm fallible.  I have faults, I make mistakes, there are times I need to apologize--my poor self esteem will allow this list to continue if I don't cut myself off here.  How else will my children know it's okay to have faults if they don't know their mom does?  How else will they learn to apologize, or recover from mistakes, if they don't see me setting the example--and most importantly, apologizing to them?  How will they know it's okay to not be perfect if they don't see my own imperfections?  How will they know to accept these things from others with grace and mercy if I don't accept mistakes and faults from my children with grace and mercy?

Here's the rub.

I read about these Wonder Moms who hide things from their children.  Illnesses.  Depression.  Regular, run-of-the-mill sadness.  Poverty.  Their children brag on their sainthood.  I'm in awe of them, but my sarcastic, cynical side also kind of rolls her eyes a bit, sorry.

"I never knew my mom suffered so much."
"I never knew we were poor."
"I never knew my father was so awful to her before and after the divorce."  Okay, this one I'm going to let go.  This shows amazing character.
"My mom hid her illness from us to the very end."
"My mom was so strong all of the time!"  Spoiler alert:  She was faking it.
"I was such a brat and my mom was such a saint!"  Again,  faking it.

The list goes on.

I'm curious if these kids ever feel lied to.  If they feel they missed the chance to support their moms, or to learn how to support others.  Are they given a false impression of people or of how the world works?

So, exactly just how much of my fallibility do I hide from my children?  It's something I really wrestle with.

Along with being imperfect, my kids need to know I'm also strong and brave, right?  I should be calm.  They should know they can count on me for their every need, and anything else thrown in there.  They should know I'm not going to fall apart every other day.  They should see me handle things as a Proverbs 31 woman would.  Maybe I should be more saint-like (or at least fake it).  They should know their mom is MOM--fully in control at all times (or at least pretending to be).

And yet....

I'm seldom in control.  I seldom feel in control.  I seldom look in control.  I seldom even fake being in control.  I'm not a calm person.  When we were poor, Noah knew it.  Even now, there are many expenses we tell the boys we're holding off until payday (credit cards are for emergency purposes only, kiddos! And yes, boys, Young Living is absolutely an emergency expense, so do not second guess Mama, okay? Okay!).  My kids are fully aware of my illnesses, Noah more so about the severity than his brothers, but they know there are days that Mama just can't mom.  No hiding that here when Mama can't walk or her arm doesn't cooperate or when she's taking medicine every day, three and four times a day.  Do we sugarcoat some things for the littles?  Yes, we absolutely do.  I'm also a crier. Dear Lord am I crier!  Sorry folks--happy, sad, just plain emotional, worship in church, worship in the car, movies, songs, memories, whatever, those tears are coming out.  Sometimes they are coming out in a torrent, sometimes just a tear or two.  I've also always been open with my children about my depression and mental health issues, on an age-by-age, relevant basis.  Again, Noah knows more about my history than the littles.  I have regular (weekly--okay, okay--daily) breakdowns.  For the record, my kids typically have daily ones. *wink*  I am so far from being anywhere close to being a saint, I don't think I would even be allowed to sit in the same church as one.  No Proverbs 31 pretending here!

I wish I had the answer to my above question.  I'm by no means a Wonder Mom.  I don't know that I want to be her.  Seems like a lot of pressure.  If you can't tell, I don't do well under pressure.  But I still worry and wonder that I'm coming up short for my kids by not being more like her.  One of the things I sort of pride myself on is being transparent, but perhaps with my children, I should be less so.   My kids probably see a lot more than I should allow them to.  Perhaps I should be less of who I am, at least in front of them, for them.  I certainly fall more on the side of Fallible Mom.  There are times I'm sort of proud of that (hey, lower standards for my kids to have to live up to, right?), and times there's a lot of guilt that comes with it (I should aspire to be more for my kids). I don't ever want my children to have the false impression they have to be perfect in this world.  I want them to be true to themselves, and true to how God made them.  Unless they're being jerks.  Don't do that.

This is how God made me--imperfect and flawed. This is also how God made my kids.

There's only been one perfect human in this world.  While I was made in our shared Father's image, I don't think being perfect like him is something I need to strive for.  Being like him, following in his footsteps?  Yes.  But even he admits I will falter.  And he accepts that with grace and mercy.  Every single day.

My Life as Translator

I saw this on an autism social media site: "The Maori word for autism is "Takiwatanga." It means "In his/her own time and space."" 

It made me think of a recent incident with Ezra; we were at an event where he became sensory overloaded, and actively sought out his own time and space.

My Sweet Little Trash Panda

We were in a large room, and he was overwhelmed by the noise, echoes, light, the storm outside, the space inside, and anything else I wasn't able to pinpoint.  He found the only place available--a closet/bin decoratively designed to hide a trash can--and hid in there.  I knew immediately what was going on, but was in a race against time to translate Ezra to the others in the room.

When Ezra did explained himself, he used his words (yay!), but poorly chosen ones.  We'll work on that.  

I was on my to intervening, to translating my child to the rest of the world.  He was not being naughty or getting into trouble by hiding.  He was not playing a game.  He just merely needed to be alone.  He was in a self-imposed time out.  The best way to handle it?  To leave him be.  To let him come out in his own time.

As I continue to translate my kids to the world, that's all they need:  To be left as themselves; they aren't getting into trouble.  They don't need your intervention.  They will come out in their own time.  They will find their own space.  They will grow at their own pace.

And that's okay.

My Kids Didn't Go Back To School Today

Our county and the next county over are going back to school this week.

My kids aren't joining them.  


While I haven't quite adjusted, it is a huge relief to me.

What may seem a rite of passage for many, will not be for mine this year.

We made the decision to homeschool our kids this year, including Noah's senior year (his decision), and Ezra's first preschool year.

Looking at many of the back to school postings on social media, I've felt relief whoosh through me.

Relief that my children were not joining the herds of kids on the buses, jamming the hallways, and getting lost in the crowds.

Relief that it will be me, and the other chosen parents in our co-op, nurturing my children.

Relief that it will not be my children with their multiple differences, and me, fighting my way through the administration and teachers, for the better educations they deserve.

Relief that my children won't be taught only to state tests, but are free to learn within their desires, take family field trips that will interest them and free to learn how they learn.

Relief that they will be challenged as necessary, as well as able to go at their own pace as necessary, rather than having to play catch up, or sit bored in a classroom.

Relief that God will not only be allowed into their classrooms and schoolwork, but fully integrated, rather than having the door firmly shut in His face.

Relief to not have to attend all the back to school programs,  filling out all the forms for each child in triplicate, requesting the 504/IEP meetings, and so on....

My relief goes on.  My shoulders aren't tense this year.  I don't have the I'm feeding my children to the wolves apprehension I normally feel this time of year.  The here we go again feeling.

I'm not even tense about joining a co-op, where I only know one person.  Avery could not be more excited for this new adventure, and I'm praying it is at least one of the answers we've been looking for with him.  The original plan last year was to send him back to public school this year, but when we received his final third grade test results, we couldn't argue: We'd finally found something that worked.  This is my chance to really settle in with him and concentrate on everything he's needed the past few years in school that he hasn't been getting.  We recently met for an eval with a speech pathologist, and she reinforced the homeschooling approach (I reserved the urge to leap across the table and hug her, instead bursting into tears and thanking her). She gave me so many resources to use with him, and agreed that everything I've been arguing with the schools being problems over the last 4 years, are real, genuine problems--and I now have the power to help my child!  Avery will finally have the freedom to be himself, to be who he is meant to be.

Noah is attending an online private school (let's face it, he's smarter than I am), and will be using materials I supplement.  After last year, when I realized during the last week of school in May I should have pulled him in December when I pulled Avery, if not sooner, this is a huge relief for all of us.  Public school was slowly killing him.  He begged us to bring him home, and not send him back.  An incredibly smart kid, his grades reflected the depression he'd sunk into.  As his mom, it killed me that I didn't see it sooner.  I'm grateful to have Noah home this last year, where I can love on him, nurture him, pray on him and just be with him.  It's what I've wanted and prayed for.  Our relationship has gotten off track for so many reasons, and I just wanted my Noah back.  This is my chance before he leaves my nest.

Ezra is excited to be going to school at all!  It's something he's never experienced, but always watched his brothers go off to.  He's got a new backpack and a new lunchbox, so he's all set, and that's all he cares about!

This is our year.  I know it will come with its own problems and it won't be easy.  But this is the course we've chosen, and we're going to make the best of it.

Yeahhhhhh, They're Kind of Memorable Like That

We went to the mall today.

As I walked into one store pushing one hooligan in front of me, the other two dragging their feet behind me, moaning and groaning, the young store clerk cheerily greeted me.

"It's so great to see you again!"

It's a big mall.  It's a huge city.  It's been months since I've been there.  There's no way she could possibly remember me.  I'm sure she says that to all of her customers.

Later, while I shopped, she remarked that it had been a while since I had been in.

Whaaatt?  She really did remember me.  Oh my gosh.  Well, it is quite possible her commissions from my sales have made her car payments, or perhaps a semester or two of school.  Perhaps that's why it was great to see me again?

While I paid, I told her I had to really give her credit for remembering me. That is excellent customer service!  I was truly impressed!

As my toddler scream-whined in his stroller, my 9 year old whined, and my teenager rolled his eyes in boredom, she commented that it was actually my kids, particularly my youngest, who really helped her remember.  She said it's been fun watching him grow, and she can't believe how big he's gotten.

The sweet girl was trying to cover up her blunder, and I felt awful for her.

I laughed.  I laughed hard--not at her or her blunder, but at my kids. It was all I could do.  I heard the customer behind me chuckle.  I caught the guy to my right try to cover up his laugh.  Fortunately, we all also had the salesclerk laughing with us, realizing she had not in the least insulted me.  I reassured her I understood what she meant.  I knew she meant well.  Because well, yeah, my kids are kind of memorable.  Whether we mean to or not, we wind up making an impression pretty much every where we go.  Whether that's good or bad, I haven't quite figured out yet, but yeah, we're all kinds of memorable.