I am not a perfect mom but I am a ‘good enough’ mom

I was going to be the Dr. Oz of parenting. I was going to be a guru, and then I realized that I would probably have to teach my kids to stop acting like wild raccoons at the grocery store. I don’t want to be negative but my kids are 10, 8, 6, and 3. This is never going to happen for me.

You are not going to get advice from me on teaching toddlers to read, or getting your kids to stop gagging on their vegetables. I could however offer a step-by-step guide to watching them chew on the same vegetable for two hours, until you eventually give up and let them spit it out.

I am not very perfect at parenting, but I do love my kids enough to cuddle with them while they smell like pee, and I feel like that’s kind of a lot.

I’m not perfect, but I am enough…and so are you.

I enjoy them enough.

Sometimes I smell their hair and I kiss their cheeks. I laugh at their jokes and I marvel that I am so blessed. Time stops in moments like that and everything is perfect and worth it.

Other times I am unsure if I will survive the hours of 4:00-8:30 p.m., and if one can die of overexposure to bickering.

One can. I’m sure of it.

I enjoy them enough.

I am good enough at bedtime.

Sometimes we read together. We snuggle on the couch and I read them Hardy Boys or Anne of Green Gables.

Other times I race through a bedtime song like I’m Alvin the chipmunk. I punctuate it with a kiss and I run outta there like it is a hostage situation. (Because it is.) They cry out after me that their water is old, that their backs itch and their underwear is twisted. This is when I hide behind the freezer door shoveling cookie dough ice cream into my mouth, wondering who will give up first…me or them.

I am good enough at bedtime.

I am together enough.

We eat meals together. We love each other and we laugh together.

I also lose all school papers even though they come in a convenient shade of neon and my daughter (age 6) just asked me that, “If I’m going to come to her school today could I please wear ‘real’ clothes?” Then, on the way there (in case she wasn’t clear earlier) she asked me if I remembered my pants.

I am together enough.

I am fun enough.

Sometimes I take every single thing too seriously. Like crumbs and clutter and teeth brushing. I have an out of body experience while I am lecturing them and I wonder if they will remember anything other than me being grumpy.

Other times I laugh so hard with my kids that my stomach hurts. We play games, we go on hikes, and we dance in the living room in our pajamas.

I am fun enough.

I’m good enough at housekeeping.

Sometimes I pick crumbs off of the carpet and throw them under my couch. Sometimes the downstairs bathroom causes me to imagine the Health Department coming to my house and posting a D- in my front window. I fantasize that they will shut us down and we will be forced to eat at our parents house every single night from now on.

That sounds wonderful.

Other times my house is vacuumed and my counters are clean. I’m playing coffeehouse radio on Spotify and there’s a candle burning.

I am good enough at housekeeping.

I am good enough at self care.

Sometimes I cannot recall my last shower. I go to the grocery store with a pillow imprint still on my face and a pair of sweats that the 18-year-old cashiers never wanted to know about.

Other times I wear makeup and I brush my hair…and nothing…not a thousand rabid hyenas can keep me away from a ladies’ night.

I’m good enough at self care.

I am a good enough wife.

Sometimes I’m a great listener and an epic encourager. We laugh together and dream together and he is truly my favorite person.

Sometimes he gets all the brunt of my frustration. He gets my snappy responses and my rolling eyes. Sometimes when he needs a pep talk I say, “Why did you do that?”

Which he loves, for the record.

I am a good enough wife.

I am good enough at nutrition.

Sometimes I declare it a pizza night. We use paper plates and I share my love affair with ranch dressing.

Other times I buy large bags of organic carrots and force feed my children spinach. I plan meals and I worry if they’re eating too much sugar.

I am good enough at nutrition.

I love them enough.

I LOVE MY KIDS. I love them in all their messy, smelly, ridiculous and hilarious glory.

I love them and I love them and I love them…

and that’s what makes everything else I do enough.

and it makes everything you do enough too, Mama.

We love them enough.

Jessica writes at her blog Wonderoak. Follow her on Facebook and Instagram.