Some Days I Feel Like a Bad Mom

We all have moments where we feel like we are inadequate, moments where we feel like we are failing our children in some way.  These moments are often far and few between and my rational mind knows that it's simply not true, but my emotional self can't help but give in every now and then.

Last Sunday night, after Bolt and Simba were asleep in their beds I realized that we had a bag full of our boys' art on our living room floor that we hadn't touched all weekend.

Suddenly my mind was filled with thoughts of 2 year old Simba drawing pictures over the weekend and telling me he wanted to put them on his cubby to show Daddy.

Was he excitedly putting his art in his daycare cubby to show his parents who never looked or acknowledged it?

And there you have it, in a matter of moments I felt like the worst Mom ever. What parent doesn't nurture their children's inner artist,  encouraging them to be all they can be?

I resisted the desire to self-loathe and instead decided to look for a solution; a skill I'm trying to teach 4 year old Bolt.

With the help of some painters tape,  I had my boys' art on the wall for everyone to enjoy and as the hubs pointed out once the art gets ripped down and torn up, we can simply throw it in the recycling bin without any guilt. My boys' art will have been displayed, enjoyed and appreciated.

And just like that I had myself back on track; I'm not a bad Mom, I'm a real Mom who gets tired,  overwhelmed and sometimes forgets the little things, but aren't we all?

So Happy

The boy isn't all that expressive with his emotions; he's never particularly liked to be touched (unless its on his terms) nor has he ever been very generous with his hugs and kisses.

Much to our parental delight, that started to change recently.  The boy began to verbally express his feelings.  I remember the first time, It was morning and he'd been playing in his room for about 20 minutes.  The moment I opened his bedroom door he ran to me, gave me a huge hug and exclaimed that he was 'so happy'.

In that moment, my heart melted and continues to melt, each and every time he tells me that he's so happy.

For the hubs and I, those two words are practically an addiction, like crack for parents.  Every time we open his bedroom door we silently hope that the onslaught of love from our little man is there waiting for us.  Of course its not, because if it was, it would become commonplace far too fast.

Despite our efforts, those two words will not be tricked or coerced out of him, we simply must wait for his moments of joy and revel in the love that our little man chooses to share with us.

When he's so happy, its infectious, we are too.