“Mom, my dad and I are having a slumber party. You’re invited, but you may have to bring your computer so you can work.”
Whoa.
I don’t always take to heart the stuff my 6-year-old says. Like the time he told me “nice moms don’t make kids eat peas” or when he said my eyebrows looked weird. This last doozy, however, contained so much underlying truth that my heart sank into the laptop sitting in my lap. I thought I was getting an A+ in balancing work, parenting, and everything in between, but my kid just gave me a failing grade.
My heart hurt. I translated my son’s statement to mean, “Mom, you suck.”
I’d been trying to make our overwhelming quarantine life look perfectly effortless with all the tasks and strange new schedules it required. I figured I was getting passing marks until my kid’s comment gave me valuable insight into his perception that I hadn’t been doing such a bang-up job. How could I not have seen this coming?
Part of my job as a parent is predicting all of the outcomes in order to keep him safe and happy. My brain is like a Mommy Magic 8 Ball. Is the “outlook good” if I let him indulge in that ice cream sundae as big as his head? “My reply is no” when I think ahead to later that evening when his belly feels “too full” from too much sugary diary. With all that forethought going into each and every decision I make, how did I miss my son’s disappointment in me?
My kid’s disappointment morphed into a greater disappointment in myself. My goal had always been to show my son a well-rounded multitasking mom who can do it all — and better yet, let him see me do it effectively. Instagram moms were baking bakery stores full of bread while homeschooling and painting works of art. I was scoring big when I bought a loaf of bread.
And so what if underneath I felt like I’d climbed into the spinning wheel with our pet hamster? I was determined to make our “new normal” look perfectly normal.
Then my son gave me the great reality check I needed.
I’d been so focused on establishing the perfect new normal, that I’d forgotten to be the perfectly normal parent he needed. I don’t want my son to know me as a mother figure struggling to show him a fake image of perfection. Trying to be the perfect mom for my family pushes vital aspects of my awesome parenting skills aside: fun, spontaneity, and creativity go missing while trying to achieve. My son has been missing those parts of me — and quite frankly, I’ve been missing them in myself.
So I’m going to become the best flawed mama I can be. I want my son to witness my imperfections and watch me embrace them, so he can learn to accept his own. I hope this will set a better example, because the cracks and rough edges are there to be embraced, not pushed aside.
My kid was right. When I strive for the unattainable doing-it-all mom image, I totally suck. So this summer, I’m taking a break from perfection and letting my imperfect flag fly high. This also means less time spent perfectly multitasking and more time perfectly spent with my kid. Hopefully, though, my kid will always feel how beautifully perfect my love for him is, and in this my prediction is leaning more toward a positive “all signs point to yes.”
