Unfit Mothering

A few weeks ago, my dear friend posted this message on her Facebook wall:

My name is Dora**, and I despise doing crafts with my daughter. I also can’t french braid. Someone should call CPS on me as I am an unfit mother.

When I scrolled upon her post, I initially gasped cheered, clicked “like” and finally breathed a sigh of relief. Because this is a mom that I adore. A women who’s relationship with our Lord is deep and strong, who struggles with serious issues, and who is someone I deeply admire. A mother who truly represents my heart and she can’t french braid either!

I know it seems absolutely ridiculous but I am constantly comparing my children to the ones walking down the hall at church or school. I see those cute little girls in their pretty church dresses with matching shoes and bows in their neatly platted hair with my princess who’s stringy unwashed hair still has food it in from the night before. I compare the boys who have neatly ironed button ups with pressed slacks and boat shoes to my son in his hole filled shorts, bed head and flip flops. Both of my children usually have some type of dirt on their knees or cheeks and I am rarely sure if they brushed their teeth before we left the house.

It’s not the “my kid is better than yours – na na nana boo boo” kind of compare. Honestly, it’s not. It’s more of the sell deprecating kind of comparison. My inner Mom starts to think, “those women must be better mom’s than me because they knew the difference between a french braid and fish tail braid even before Pinterest showed us 332 thousand different ways style hair.” 

Or what about that Mom on Facebook that is constantly posting pictures of her kid eating some rare and exotic meal while I am lucky not to burn the rice. Even if I don’t burn the rice, my kids probably won’t eat it anyway because all they really want is a PB&J. 

Don’t even get me started on crafts or baking. There is nothing more dreadful to me than sitting down with my kids for an hour while they cut, paint and color 256 snowflakes or water colored fish. We don’t even own any play dough or an art easel. I secretly hide the paper and scissors and when asked for some, I instantly become distracted and suggested another activity. 

Isn’t it amazing though, how quick we are to label our weaknesses? To point out our “failures” and to covet a pile of handmade hair bows? To deem ourselves unfit simply because we can’t French braid? 

Now, I know my sweet friend was simply joking, but still I can’t help but wonder if their isn’t a tiny bit of truth behind her posting. That tiny little hurt that makes one wonder if their child is some how missing out on something because some other mother seems to always be doing “it” better.

I know in my heart of hearts that Lu (or her daughters) will not be permanently damaged because she wore pig tales to dance class. (Heck, my mother never knew how to French braid and I survived.) However, somewhere deep inside, I can’t stop comparing myself to the mother down the hall. I can’t stop trying to do better. I can’t stop feeling unfit. 

Lets stop the madness ladies! Lets stop trying to outdo one another and just start accepting ourselves for who we are; fantastic Mom’s doing the best we can, every day, even if we don’t know how to braid. 

My first attempt at French Braiding…. Maybe there is hope yet!

**All names and identities have been slightly altered as to protect the innocent.