Slacker Mom Makes Peace with Being a Slacker

Have you ever had a mom tell you how imperfect she is while looking at right at you from perfectly rested, bright eyes, sitting in a perfectly clean house, while her perfectly behaved children are quietly completing their lessons (perfectly)? Said mom goes on to mention that she runs for an hour every morning instead of relying on the gallon of coffee you’re chugging every day, that she gets an hour of Bible time before that, does homeschool, bakes her bread from scratch, raises chickens, and gets a perfect 8.5 hours of sleep every night. Surely she’s exaggerating her accomplishments, you think! Alas, no. She really is all that and a bag of (kale) chips.

I have met this woman (details changed to protect the completely innocent, though maddeningly perfect mother). She exists, and she’s not lying about a thing. She really is doing it all. And I’m not. I have no desire to run for an hour every morning. Some of us are built for that, and some of us have to make do with a brisk walk. However, I’m not even doing half the things that I should be doing, let alone finding time for that sacrament of modern life without which none can be holy: exercise.

My friend Achiever Mom is not perfect. I know she isn’t. It’s not possible. In fact, I know her also to be something of a control freak and and worrier. However, she has an enviable ability to get all the things done that she has determined she should do. She has time with God. She has time to run. She’s taking care of all her responsibilities. She has a zillion neatly checked off lists to prove it. She does it all.

Every. Miserable. Day.

Frankly, it sounds awful. I’d be wound up tighter than the proverbial cat in a room full of rocking chairs if I had to live that way. Yesterday, I wished for Perfect Mom’s ability to get things done. Then I realized that I am simply not built to succeed in that way. I’m pretty sure I’ll succeed in my own way, though. Today, I’m really very happy to be a slacker mom with a preschooler on my lap during my “alone” time because I got up too late to sneak past him.

There’s no point whatsoever to this post. Just wanted to remind myself, and a lot of other moms, that we’re all very different in our needs and abilities, so there’s no point feeling like a failure if your bread came from the grocery store instead of your own (perfectly clean) oven. I’ll bet your kids don’t care that much if your hair is a mess, anyway.


Comments

  1. You sum it up perfectly!