I want to be a Domestic Goddess, the perfect mother, wife, homemaker. Think Mary Poppins surrounded by dozens of chirping songbirds and happy, smiling, dancing children who all think I'm the cat's meow.
Or something like that.
Maybe I didn't fly enough kites with my kids, I don' t know, but they seem to need a good swift kick in the pants more than they need a spoonful of sugar. Come to think of it, I can count on one hand the number of times we actually got kites flying, not for lack of trying, I'll have you know.
Truth is, this mothering gig requires more than being the fun lady who makes taking medicine a joy. On any given day, I have to be a world class sleuth, a patient counselor, a tutor, a seamstress, a hairdresser (true confession time--I really stink at those last two!), a chauffeur, an advocate, a short order cook, or a master drill sergeant. With so many faces and hats involved, no wonder I get so fried I feel like the abominable snowman in this video.
No, I've never been Mary Poppins. Some days I'm Cruella DeVille, others I resemble Barney Rubble. My poor kids never know what they'll walk into. But I guess what's important is that I keep going in. I'm not the perfect mother, but I'm always here. That counts for something, right?
Mothers of the world unite. We can do this. Hang tough. No Mary Poppins required.