On Monday every week I watch my three youngest grandchildren. I love them more than life itself, as I do all my grandchildren, so no one should take this as a complaint because I'm more than happy to help out in this way. but some Monday's are beyond exhausting. Actually every Monday is pretty tiring, but some are truly like no others. And they remind me of how difficult it was to be a stay-at-home mother when I was raising my own little brood.
I would say that the majority of mothers were working back then so I didn't have a lot of company, and today it's even less popular to stay at home because the economy really doesn't make it easy. But I remember thinking how difficult it would be to come home tired after a day at work, only to have to deal with a whining toddler or surly pre-teen. It's just as difficult to deal with those kids all day long, but at least you don't have to worry about being fresh and cheery for them at the end of the day-you've had plenty of time to be the perfect mother, reading stories and playing games before the fatigue sets in after all.
But Monday's are especially good for reminding me that we are all doing the impossible when it comes to raising kids: we're trying to be perfect. I get just as upset with myself now as I did thirty years ago when I don't think I was patient enough, or kind enough, or laughing enough. But we are all flawed people, and I guess that's what makes us human. Letting our children see that may not be such a bad thing.