Have you ever had the urge to kill? Most mothers have. It happens at a time when we've had all the fighting, quibbling, temper tantrums, spills and breaks that we can take. We wonder why we ever wanted kids in the first place. But deep inside, we wouldn't trade them for anything in the world. We'd lay down our lives for them at any given moment.
Being a frantic Mom is part of being a mother. None of us are Supermom, yet everyone seems to think we should be. Is the mother-in-law complaining about dust bunnies under the bed? Is your mother harping about your kids not being brought up the way she would like to see them brought up? Well, guess what. Her mother and mother-in-law probably gave her the same hassles.
Being a good wife and mother sometimes means being a frantic Mom. Yes, it is normal. No, you shouldn't feel guilty. If there's cherrios being crunched underfoot on the kitchen floor and dust bunnies under the bed, that is okay. We want homes that are lived in, don't we? Do we really want a show-place where our kids can't relax and enjoy the comfort of their own home? So what if the neigbours talk. Who cares.
The most important aspect in a child's life is spending quality time with his parents. A mother's love is especially important to children. They need to be read to, played with and hugged everyday.
I was a single mother for 17 years. My first husband died when my daughter was two. I had to be both mother and father to her. I worked, rather than go on welfare or other government assistance. When I got home, I was drained. Still, I had a child to feed, dishes to do, baths to give, and so many other things. In no time I was burned out.
While talking to my doctor about the stress of being a single mother, he brought something to my attention. He said, "Mary, you have to get your priorities straight. I know you have to work to support you and Michelle, but you can only do so much. If you run yourself ragged and become ill, who is going to look after your daughter."
Whamoo! Who would look after Michelle if I became ill, either mentally or physically. I knew I had to organize my life.
After that, Michelle was my first priority when I got home. We spent time playing a game, then had supper. When she was small, I would play with her, bath her and get her ready for bed. Once she was in her pajamas, I would read to her. If she wanted the same book read three times, I read it. If she wanted five stories, that is what she got. We spent time bonding.
As Michelle got older, our schedule changed a little. Once she went to school, we would play a game when I got home, have supper, make sure her homework was complete and get her into her pajamas. I still read to her. The books were different now, but the bonding experience was the same. Sometimes she read to me. She didn't care if the fan was dusty, if the house was a mess, or if cheerios crunched under her feet. All she cared about was feeling love and bonding with a parent.
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