The little girl quietly sets up her secret kingdom behind closed doors. Each maiden tall and fair with a plastic smile and perfect teeth. What noble prince would not swoon over any one of these elegantly dressed women? They sit and stand around the pink castle with cardboard ivy and grand cut out windows. In her kingdom, there were no clothes on the floor. There were no dirty dishes in the sinks. In her kingdom rugs didn’t get dirty and dust didn’t accumulate. She could have parties every day and each maiden looked her best.
Naturally, the little girl thought this is how her life would turn out. Someday she would be tall and fair with a perfect smile and beautiful teeth. Someday she wouldn’t have to worry about dishes or picking up after herself because she would have a maid to do that. She would be too busy wearing beautiful dresses and going to balls. She would find a prince and live happily ever after.
The alarm goes off, it’s Tuesday morning. There are lunches to be made, children to get dressed, and hair to be washed. From upstairs Daughter 1 is yelling at Daughter 2 for taking the hair brush. Only Son still hasn’t moved and the clock is ticking. Quickly I throw in a load of laundry. If I can just get to folding and putting it away I could cut down the accumulating pile.
“Mom I need a towel!” yells Only Son who has finally got up.
Looking down at the pile of clean clothes, jeans, and turning to the next up pile, towels. Oops! I miss calculated the need. Climbing the stairs I pick up a cleanish looking towel off of Daughter 1’s floor. Proud that Only Son had decided to take a shower on his own, I almost smiled to myself. Meanwhile, daughter 2 comes storming out of her room complaining that she has nothing to wear. Glancing at her floor it is obvious she tried on every outfit in her drawers, and still time was ticking.
“Go downstairs and look in the clean basket,” I suggested calmly though I felt slightly annoyed.
In the kitchen, Husband was busy making lunches but realized we were out of baggies.
“Honey, what should I wrap these sandwiches in? We are out of baggies,” he asked.
At a loss for ideas, I said, “Napkins.”
Five minutes to go, when Daughter 1 states, “Mom, I can’t find any socks.”
Sighing I tromp down the stairs to the sock basket, the land of misfit socks. Hearing Husband honking the horn and knowing the kids shouldn’t be tardy again I found two socks that could almost be a match. Running up the stairs I hand them to her, as she runs out to the van. I hear the engine hum as they pull away from the driveway, and finally, I can sit down.
Looking around my table is covered in debris from a hectic life. I look to my floor that is also littered with the evidence of a full home. I study the red walls in my kitchen, scuffed and splattered. In these quiet moments of truth, I see that my real story is not plastic and well-groomed. No, it is messy, cluttered, and full. I think sometimes that I grew up to be a disappointment to the little girl who dreamed so big, or maybe so small and narrowly.
I think most women would agree that the woman they grew up to be and the one they dreamed they would be, don’t really compare. As I lean down to pick up the large pair of shoes my husband left on the kitchen floor last night before he went in to read Daughter 2 a bed time story, I smiled. I don’t always smile at this habit. I also picked up daughter 2’s knee pads. I pictured her serious little face as she bravely served the volleyball at her game the night before. I carefully picked up a dried out bug that had been accidentally left behind when Daughter 1 turned in her insect collection. Relief filled my mind as I realized I didn’t have to eat my cereal while staring at a pinned praying mantis anymore.
When I returned to the table I realized Only Son had forgotten his bag. Everything he needs is in that backpack. Sinking into the kitchen chair again I realized I am “that” parent. The one that can’t keep it all together. The one who has the messy house. The one who has “Wash me” written on the back van window. The one who runs into school with lunch boxes, backpacks, volleyball pads, or homework every day of her existence. The one with messy hair and a less than perfect smile.
Her kingdom isn’t quaint and it definitely isn’t quiet. In her vulnerability, she wonders if other mothers could rate themselves as poorly as she rates herself. It just seemed that growing up would be so much easier back on the shag carpet with Barbies posed in both hands.
Scrambling to get dressed in official clothes for the work day, and slapping on the essential make-up “to be seen” I dash to Van 2 with backpack in arms. If I hurry I won’t be late to work.
In the mad rush to keep up, I sometimes lose sight of the bigger picture... I am blessed. I may never be a great housekeeper, or a great before school coordinator. Such confessions to own my faults are hard to even utter out loud. But this one thing I know, I love this family God has given me, and I forgive us. I forgive us for the perpetually messy table and the messy floor, the too many tardies, and the forgotten backpacks. If I don't forgive I can't even truly love myself. But I can smile, in hope that this is not the end of the story. Motherhood is hard, so I trust in the One who can help me to keep going, to keep growing. My life might not be fancy dresses and plastic castles, but it is still a great life. I venture to say, to all you Moms out there who can relate, so is yours.
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