First, a haiku:
Leaves lingering on An untapped Sugar Maple Fall to become mulch -sgp
Okay, this is not a newsletter about motherhood but because I am a mother I will occasionally discuss the occupation. The message may or may not be universal, but will certainly include some degree of self depreciation.
My spouse travels frequently for work and as such I do a fair share of solo parenting each month. As if three young boys were not enough we recently added a puppy to the mix. Being outside the newborn baby phase for sometime I had grown accustomed to the gift of uninterrupted sleep. This gift has recently been retracted (thank you, Star).
On those long days, I occasionally fall asleep while I put my kids to sleep. A while ago I decided to fix this problem with a small figurine I like to refer to as “Perfect Mom.”
I won’t solicit this magical storytelling box by name because I’m not here for affiliate link commissions, but this screen-less device has leveled up my evening momming. It plays audio stories much like the cassette tape player from my youth. There are popular books and characters that children love and also blank ones for you to record your own stories/songs/poems on.
This little 2 inch tall, genderless figurine with a red hood and pointy ears is the mom I want to be at 8PM. You see, because I am not always the mom I want to be at 8pm, my caffeinated and child-free self at 11AM made this recording of all the special poems, stories, and prayers I want my children to hear, to know, and treasure.
So when 8PM rolls around and my spent body can do nothing but fall asleep before my children, I quietly place Perfect Mom on her audio pulpit, cuddle my small humans and we listen to the magic of 11AM Perfect Mom, gracefully reciting Robert Louis Stevenson, Lewis Caroll, Robert Frost, AA Milne, and Shel Silverstein (jeez, get some women on the list, lady).
I will admit I’ve had some moments where I drift off and imagine my children fighting over Perfect Mom in the wake of my untimely death. My grieving spouse will give time outs and groundings for these squirmishes but the eventual demise and accidental destruction of Perfect Mom is inevitable.
Her destruction will lead to key moments of true healing and letting go. The children and the puppy will all recite “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost and eat all of their chicken nuggets for dinner.
They will play snippets of my poetry readings at my funeral and the people there will wipe away empathic tears, grieving what a good mother my sons have lost, but my Substack subscribers are the only ones that know the real truth: Perfect Mom was caffeinated and kid-free, 11AM me.
(Ok, snap out of it).
As a recovering people pleaser/perfectionist, what I am learning is that who you are or how you express your self, your role, your creations— can never escape judgement… from strangers, peers, or family members. Making choices to express yourself anyway, share imperfect art, or be just “okay” at something is where growth and discovery lies.
A “cringe” factor is basically a rite of passage on way to mastery.
While I sometimes think that achieving true Perfect Mom status would relieve shame, I have come to realize that this is in fact, unattainable. (Except there are like a few moms I know that have definitely achieved this). Of course we all know that even “perfect moms” are judged for being just that, too perfect!
So whether it’s art, or writing, or work, or running, or momming at 8pm, there is always risk of judgement, cringe, or feeling like a failure.
We cannot offer perfection to those we love. We cannot even guarantee our self improvement. We cannot promise the people in our lives that they will be okay—that is after all the human condition, that we will eventually not be okay.
But we can choose to be with our people and be there for each other imperfectly. To see each other’s limitations, humanity, and extend gratitude, grace, and love. I think the same thing goes for art and creating anything. We must not let the fear of judgement or someone not liking it or thinking its not good enough to stop us from self expression.
To show up imperfectly one day, and choose to try again the next. Grace after all, is new every morning. This is good news— for everyone.
I needed this Sara!
This was a lovely and humorous reflection that made me smile, and inspired me to take a deep exhale as I flopped on the floor next to my kids while “perfect dad” read the bedtime stories tonight. ☺️ I appreciate how you vulnerably share these universal tensions with perfection and presence.