Mother of the Year

Will ran into a brick wall.

He was hop hop hopping on the front porch, lost his balance, and the brick wall caught him.

It's not a big deal (well, I suppose his nose could possibly be broken), but he took all the skin off the tip of his nose and it's a huge scab with a nice little bruise across the top.

This little booboo makes me feel like Mother of the Year, especially at Reid's one month checkup today, as the pediatrician immediately asked why he looked like Rudolph.

A friend of mine had her infant laying on a sofa cushion on the ground. Due to his superior rolling ability, he barreled himself right off and onto the floor--maybe a two inch drop.

She texted me, "Worst mom ever."

It's become the mom joke. Your kid does something that kids have done for ages, maybe or maybe not gets hurt, and regardless, you instantly feel like you have failed at parenting. And even though maybe you know you aren't the worst mom ever, and the sarcasm is heavy in your acceptance speech of that annual mom award, a little bit deep down you think, "Man...I suck."

It used to be we would compare ourselves to other women's clothes, hair, figures--superficial stuff. Now I judge myself as a mother in the form of who's kids look happiest in the photos on Facebook.

And since we know people only post the good stuff on Facebook, at times, it can make it rather difficult to feel like we are adequate.

But are we really the "Worst Mother Ever"?

Last I checked I didn't leave my infant and toddler home alone to go buy drugs.

But, last Christmas, I also didn't make the Elf on the Shelf do something fantastically creative with flour, mini footprints, lipstick, and a Barbie Dream House.

So where do I fall?

Nick Jr. (oh yeah, because my kids watch TV, and sometimes, it's the most amazing babysitter ever, and I don't care what you think about that) advertises its online parent forum. Their slogan is, "We're not perfect; we're parents!"

In the eyes of Will and Reid, at least for the next few years, I am the best mom--for a thousand reasons ranging from the way I cut a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to the way I do the voices in the Little Pea book. And you reading this? You are your kids' best mom--for a thousand different reasons. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter if you Spring Break with your kids in Hawaii or in Hawaiian shirts on your staycation; it doesn't matter if your kid eats Jell-O for dinner or a well-balanced meal with all the food groups and a full glass of milk (although I would high five you for that); it doesn't matter if your kid speaks three languages or none at all.

I'm not judging myself for it.

And you shouldn't either.

At some point, our kids are going to make us little posters. These posters will not have pictures of scabbed knees or noses, nor will there be photos of couch cushions, or that one temper tantrum when they screamed and shrieked and hit you on the head repeatedly in an attempt to escape your vice like grip to prevent them from throwing themselves down in the middle of the aisle at Target. No, on these posters, written in crayon or marker or paint, with some letters backward, some lower case letters and some not, there will be just three little words, maybe hearts, maybe rainbows, maybe a portrait of you with legs that start at your shoulders. It will say "World's Greatest Mom."

In that moment, you'll know that you really are.


Best Mom Ever. Mother of the Year.