I’m not that mom. I wish I were. If I were that mom I would make my children breakfast, lunch AND dinner. I would do their laundry and be gracious about taking things to the school when they forget things at home. If I were that mom I would stay up late with them while they finished homework and maybe even help them with it. That mom would attend and enjoy all of their activities, sitting in the front row with a camera at every one of them.  But I’m not.

I’m the other kind of mom. I’m the mom who numbered the children because it seemed easier than trying to remember their names. I’m the mom who hardly ever remember their friends names. And Lord help me if I ever need their serial (social security) number.  I’m the mom who told my children the ice cream truck was a music truck so they wouldn’t ask for ice cream every time it came around. I’m the mom who taught my children to do laundry and gave them assigned days to do it, so I wouldn’t have to.  I’m the mom eats their treats out of their stockings and easter baskets. I’m the mom who says good night to them, leaving them to figure out their homework on their own.

I’m the mom who loves to let the kids bring as many people home as possible to eat all my food. I’m the mom who likes to build fires for them so they can sit around and talk and listen to music. I’m a mom who loves to work and sometimes forgets to take care of pesky things like food and cleaning because I’m engrossed in my work. I’m the mom who let’s the children all pile on top of me which they see as an act of love and not aggression, just so they know I enjoy them. I’m the mom who says I need to run errands and hides at Target for an hour. I’m the mom who was good at providing activities for the kids to do but wasn’t so good at playing with them.

No matter what kind of mom we are there is always somebody to compare with who seems to do the job better than you do. But no matter what I’m the mom God gave to these children and they love me. And I love them, even though I forget their names.