In my early parenting days, I envisioned myself as the ultimate parenting expert—like a Dr. Oz for moms. Reality hit hard when I realized my biggest challenge was teaching my kids to behave in public, especially at the grocery store. With my little ones aged 10, 8, 6, and 3, let’s just say that dream is a bit far-fetched.
If you’re looking for tips on how to teach toddlers the alphabet or strategies to make veggies more appealing, you might want to look elsewhere. However, I could write a detailed manual on how to endure watching your child chew one piece of broccoli for two hours before finally relenting and letting them spit it out.
I might not be the perfect parent, but I love my kids enough to cuddle with them—even when they smell like a mix of sweat and mystery. And honestly, that counts for a lot.
I’m not flawless, but I’m enough—just like you.
I genuinely enjoy them. There are moments where I catch a whiff of their hair or plant kisses on their cheeks, and I feel overwhelmingly blessed. In those instances, time seems to freeze, and everything feels just right.
Then there are the evenings from 4 to 8:30 PM, where surviving the chaos of sibling squabbles feels like a Herculean task. I’m pretty sure prolonged exposure to their bickering could be classified as a health hazard.
I’m enough when it comes to bedtime.
Sometimes, we immerse ourselves in stories. We snuggle on the couch as I read classics like “The Hardy Boys” or “Anne of Green Gables.” Other nights, the bedtime song turns into a speed race, and I’m out the door faster than a kid escaping a dentist appointment. I often find myself hiding behind the freezer, spooning cookie dough ice cream into my mouth, pondering who will give in first—me or them.
I can handle bedtime well enough.
I keep it together enough.
We share meals and laughter, cherishing our time together. Yet, I still manage to lose every school paper, even those neon-colored ones that practically scream for attention. Just the other day, my 6-year-old asked, “If you’re coming to school, can you please wear real clothes?” Just in case I needed a reminder, she later inquired if I remembered my pants.
I’m together enough.
I can be fun enough too.
Sometimes, I take everything way too seriously—crumbs, clutter, and the never-ending battle of brushing teeth can send me into a lecture mode. In those moments, I wonder if my kids will only remember me as the grouchy mom. Yet, there are also times when we laugh so hard that my stomach aches. We embark on adventures, play games, and dance around the living room in our pajamas.
I’m fun enough.
I can manage housekeeping adequately.
There are days when I sweep crumbs under the couch and imagine the health department slapping a D- grade on my front window. I daydream about being forced to dine at my parents’ house every night. Oh, what a treat that would be! But, of course, there are also days when my home is clean, candlelit, and filled with the soothing sounds of Coffeehouse Radio.
I’m good enough at keeping my house in order.
I’m good enough at taking care of myself.
Some days, I can’t even recall my last shower, showing up at the grocery store with pillow marks on my face and sweatpants that should have been retired years ago. Then there are moments when I actually put on makeup, brush my hair, and nothing can stop me from enjoying a night out with the ladies.
I’m good enough at self-care.
I’m a decent wife too.
There are times when I’m an attentive listener and a fantastic supporter. We share laughter and dreams, and he remains my favorite person. Yet, I have my moments of frustration where he becomes the target for my snappy remarks. Sometimes, when he seeks encouragement, my response is, “Why did you do that?” Which, let me tell you, he loves…not.
I’m good enough as a partner.
I’m good enough at nutrition.
Sometimes, it’s pizza night with paper plates and an unashamed love for ranch dressing. Other times, I’m all about the organic carrots and force-feeding spinach, fretting over sugar intake.
I love them enough.
I adore my kids in all their chaotic, smelly, and downright hilarious glory. They are my world, and that love makes everything else I do sufficient. It makes everything you do enough too, mama. We love them enough.
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In summary, I may not have it all figured out, but I’m doing my best, and that’s what counts.