The Sucky Mom

How do you begin a blog about feeling like a sucky mom? Some days I can ask myself, "How did I do?" and the answer be okay. Other days I just wish I could rewind and do differently.


Sometimes I forget that my kids are just that: kids. They are 4 and 2 years old. They are not little adults and are still learning how to live in the world, are learning what is acceptable and unacceptable, what is wrong and what is right. Sometimes I forget to just let them be kids.

I think I just expect too much of them too much of the time. The bad thing is that I realize this, and yet I still do it. I catch myself doing it a lot when it comes to the kids and their daily routines involving managing their disease. If I sit back and look at the big picture, my kids are ABSOLUTELY AMAZING when it comes to doing their treatments, taking their enzymes, and doing all the daily requirements. Emberlynn sits on the couch for hours a day doing Vest therapy and breathing treatments, and the child has never complained about it. She takes her enzymes like a trooper and gets hooked up to her feeding tube at night without a word. And yet, if there is a day she is grouchy and doesn't feel like coughing "to get the yuckies up" (something she has to do to get up excess mucus), I get upset with her. Or when Cohen refuses to take enzymes, I get frustrated with him, as if this 2-year-old is supposed to understand the circumstances of this progressive disease and that if he doesn't take his enzymes, he doesn't absorb the nutrients from the food he is eating. And speaking of eating, getting the kids to eat adequate amounts of food is something we struggle with on a daily basis. Some days I just let it go, and other days I lose my patience and punish the kids for not eating (i.e. no book at bed, etc.) even though I know that's not the way to go about it. I guess I just get so desperate for them to eat, for them to gain weight and stay healthy, that I throw logic out the window and let my emotions get the best of me. I just forget that they are little and they just don't know. So why do I expect them to know? And better yet, why can't I seem to remember that?

I want my kids to have a great childhood. I want them to enjoy life and to grow up happy. When they are older, I want them to be able to look back and be able to say, "I had a good childhood" instead of, "My mom was a control freak and yelled at us all the time." I don't want to be that mom. I'm not sure who is quoted as saying this,but I think the following quote is definitely true: "We don't raise children. We raise parents." I am constantly learning how to be a parent, and I may never figure out the "best" way to do things, but maybe when we come out on the other side, when the "raising" part is done and the "watching" part begins, everything will turn out okay and my hope of doing the best that I could was indeed the best way.


On a recent rainy day, we were outside a restaurant near the sidewalk, and there were puddles everywhere. The kids wanted to jump in them, and the Kate-Gosselin-control-freak-and-mess-hater in me wanted to tell them, "NO! NO jumping in puddles!" But the smaller, quieter, and heard-less-often part of me decided to allow them to jump away. Because that small part of me knew that socks and shoes can be changed and clothes can be dried, but the wonderment in a child's face and the shrill of their laughter will fade away with time.