It is hard to be a mom sometimes. Okay. It’s hard a lot of the time.

I stress and worry that I’m not a good enough mom. When I worked in newspaper, I had to put in my 40 hours a week even though I worked from home. I went out to interviews – kids in tow if it was daytime hours – and sometimes hid on the porch so I could talk uninterrupted to mayors and police chiefs on the phone. Favorite kid memory from that era – stopping in front of a burning house and snapping a picture from the car, then waving to the fire chief. “Kids in the car! I’ll call you!” I shouted, and he waved back in agreement.

Small town.

Now I’m in a corner of a different room in the house with my laptop, but I’m still trying to do it all. Headphones help to muffle the bickering of three (sometimes four) children while I slip into the worlds of my novels. A chapter here…a few sentences there.

I write what I can. I spend time with the kids when I can. I take a break from writing to make lunch or put laundry on the clothes line or admire a newly-captured baby frog. Or to yell at someone to clean up their mess. It’s not all sunshine, for sure.

And instead of feeling like I’m doing an adequate job at writing and at parenting, I feel like I’m doing a mediocre job at both.

I guess it’s my perfectionist nature.

Easter Egg coloring…yay Mom!

When I look at all I’ve accomplished: three awesome children and several completed books – I’m kind of impressed. But when I look at dishes stacked up and stains on the carpet and messy bedrooms and unrevised novels, I feel like I’ll never match up to what I’d like to be.

A friend posted a link to a blog post today that made me feel a little better. I need to remember to read it often, and try to live by it.

I’m not Supermom. I’m a real mom. That is enough.

http://rachelmariemartin.blogspot.com/2013/07/why-being-mom-is-enough.html