So, last week's post was a little… weird for me, and, after a bit of time, I kinda feel like I need to reflect a bit on it and explain the mindset I was in when I was writing it.  (Who writes about themselves in third person?  Blech...)  No, I promise I'm not using my posts as therapy.  I think I'm doing as well as any mom with four kids six and under can do.

I use Tuesday night as my writing night for Patch.com.  I don't have a hard deadline or anything, but I just sort of picked Tuesday night as the night I was going to collect my thoughts and distance myself from the more personal posts I (used to) write for my personal blog, Soup.  I say used to, because holy cow! Has life gone from busy-like-normal to turn-the-dial-to-eleven-busy, leaving my non-deadlined personal blog in the dust.  Last Tuesday night was one of those nights that didn’t end until all four kids and mom were crying.

So, in the emotional state of "I am the worst mom in the world," I sat down to write and stared at the monitor.  I blinked.  I sighed.  I ate some Doritos.  I putzed around on Facebook.  I cried some more.  I thought about running away.  I did anything but write.

And then, because I couldn't get it out of my brain, I decided that the only way I would be able to settle myself and write was to quickly type my "motherhood ruined my life" vent, delete it, and get it out of my system.  I couldn't figure out how to start it and didn't want to write something that felt like I was screaming at my children, my husband, or my life.  "Once upon a time" fell off of my fingertips onto the keyboard.

Once upon a time, I wanted to be the best mom in the world.  I wanted to leave all other good mothers churning in my wake as I skimmed blissfully through life, gently guiding my kids to become superstars, reveling in their many talents and taking credit for all.  I was going to do it with style and aplomb.  I was going to be the mom that you look at and say, "Wow!  She's got all the answers!  I wanna be like her!"

And then I actually had my kids and humility smacked me across the face like a wet fish in a Three Stooges sketch.  Who am I kidding?  Great parent?  Ugh…  I'm honestly just happy when we're all alive at the end of the day.  I'll settle for competent, thank you.  And days like last Tuesday when I felt that nothing I could do for any of my kids was what they needed or wanted?  Please tell me I’m not the only one who has those days…

And there I was, trying my best to type a vent, trying to sum up all of my frustrations in a neat little parable.  My fingers hesitated, unable to find the right words, incapable of creating a metaphor, refusing to respond to my tantrum.  I let them go their own way and suddenly found myself writing a lesson to myself, reminding me that I truly didn't want to chuck it all and run off to Broadway, settling my bruised ego as they typed a healing salve.

I am not a perfect mother.  I do not pretend to be one.  But sometimes I need a little reminder that when very, very bad days happen, even a mommy needs a good bedtime story – or a fairy tale – to sleep on.  We have good days and bad days, but every day is a chance to do a better job.  Today was a good day, mostly.  But I’m gonna do a better job tomorrow.

And that is really the end.