Some days I feel like a 7 year old, struggling with the frustrations of AD/HD. Other times, I step back and think that maybe it’s just that my expectations are simply too high for the time that I have. I have friends who look at my life and are tired just hearing about a normal day that I have, but I have others who do just as much, if not more than I do. And yet, no matter how much I accomplish during the day, I can sit here from my bed, at nearly 10pm, and see several things that are not just undone, but haven’t gotten done in way too long.
When it comes down to it, I am very cognizant of the fact that what I give my kids every day of their lives is so important. I know that when they are adults, they will not remember the fact that sometimes my bedroom was a mess, or that the wood floors went two weeks without being mopped. What they will remember is that I was at almost -every- sports event, that their Halloween costumes were always handmade by me, that they got to experience things like ziplining and road trips to the mountains for apple picking and cutting down our own Christmas trees. They’ll remember day trips to the beach for no other reason than to spend time together. They’ll remember learning to cook with me, and having me teach them to body surf on the body boards. They’ll remember me spending an hour in Home Depot while they chose paint colors for their rooms when we moved, and then seeing the pride in their faces when they painted those rooms themselves. They’ll remember the times when they needed to talk, and knew that no matter the topic, they could seek my counsel, and that they did so.
That was the kind of parent I wanted to be. I wanted the closeness and the bond that I didn’t have growing up, but still treading that fine line of not being their “friend” instead of their “parent.” They’re not spoiled or ill-behaved. They’ve been raised well by both of their parents to be caring, conscientious, respectful, decent human beings. They celebrate diversity naturally, without having to make an effort, and have always been encouraged to explore further on their own.
I wish I could’ve been a perfect parent, but that isn’t any more feasible than being a perfect spouse was. I always thought that if I strove to be that perfect spouse, maybe I could keep the illusion intact that everything was fine. Of course everything is perfect between us! Why would you think otherwise? No, no, there’s no disintegrating disaster here. We’re not spiraling away from each other! Of course not! But it doesn’t work that way, does it? So sure, our kids have had issues. They screw up, they made occasional bad decisions, but that’s just as normal as anything else.
But I have to admit, at the end of the day, there are times when I look around and wish that I had the time to still be the parent I want to be, and then also have the time to clean all the stupid crap that I want to get done. I’d finish the unfinished projects, I’d organize all the stuff I need to organize, and get my house to look the way I want it to look. Not for anyone else, mind you. If someone comes over and judges my house? They can suck it. Not for anyone else other than me. (Hell, most of the stuff I need to get done is in my own room and design space!)
Sometimes I think I just need a clone. But for now, since I can’t have one, I’ll have to make the choice between “getting stuff done” and “being the mom I want to be for my kids.”
Guess which one wins? =D