Consistently crazy

Before becoming a mom I remember hearing or reading that the key to being a good one is consistency. If you're going to be a great mom, be a great one all the time. If you're going to be a shitty one, then stick to your guns and consistently be shitty.

According to that article or interview it's the inconsistency that screws kids up.  The goodmood-badmood-kindofokmood thing leaves children feeling confused and insecure. 

It made sense way back then. Consistency when parenting! How difficult could that be? As a mom now I know that being consistent is one of the most difficult things. Life isn't consistent. Days, hours, minutes aren't. I can start off the day in a foul mood but then receive a call or message that cheers me up. Or the other way round. I can leave the house ready to conquer the world but then traffic leaves me feeling defeated. The perfect day could be ruined by loadshedding at the imperfect time. 

I'm a mom, a wife, a friend. I'm sad some days and happy others. And as much as I try to be even keeled, I can't. So consistency isn't something Emma and Ben always get. 

Except how much I love them. And how often I tell them. And I hope and pray that even when I've gone slightly bat-shit crazy and lost my mind they know that my love never ever changes. 

I hope that when they're older, they can say their mom was slightly eccentric (read 'insane') but that I loved them just as madly. That I was crazy most times but my love for them was crazy all the time.

Taken from whenathome.com

The sun is going down. We’ve sung the last song, read the last book, and tucked you back into bed for the seventeenth time. The day is coming to a close and I breathe a sigh of relief. All day long, I look forward to the bedtime hour. Two more hours till bedtime. One more hour. Thirty minutes. 10 minutes. As soon as you’re in bed, the cleaning starts. I pick up the toys, wipe down the counters, wash the dishes, and fold the laundry. Then the relaxing starts. I put on my sweats, grab my snack, turn on Netflix, and snuggle up with your daddy. Then it’s my bedtime. I turn the t.v. off, climb into bed, and just before my head hits the pillow, I ask myself,

“Did I love them enough today?”

You see, the day goes so fast, but the moments drag on and on and on. I know you don’t understand why the way you say my name drive me crazy sometimes. I know you get frustrated when plans change and people cancel and things don’t work out. I know how hard it is for you when I forget to toast your bread before putting the peanut butter on it and how life threatening that shoe to the head must have felt. I try to give grace because you probably didn’t mean to sit on your baby sister’s head … twice … in two minutes. But the truth is, I fail. So much. I snap. I cry. I angry text your daddy and threaten mutiny multiple times a day. I get sad and I can’t explain why. I get angry and have a hard time hiding it. I get lonely and insecure and frustrated and sometimes I say things that I can’t take back.

So when I get to the end of the day…the day that I’ll never get to have with you again…I go over the details, the highs and the lows, and I wonder if you felt loved the whole day. Once you’re in bed, sleeping soundly, I almost completely forget how hard the day was for me. In the moment, the chaos is so real, but when it’s over, it’s over and I just want to wake you up and say, “HEY! You did good today, kid.”

I hope that I loved you enough today. I hope that everyday you know that you are loved and that nothing you can do or say can change that. I hope that you see through my tears of frustration and know that I am so proud of you. You are the best thing I ever did. I love you fiercely and I hope you always know that. Not just in the long run, but every single frustrating day.

Did I love you enough today, little one? I sure hope so.