No matter how many loads of laundry you do, you’re never caught up.
No matter how fast you wash the piled dishes, there’s sure to be more awaiting your attention when you’re done.
No matter how many parenting books and articles you read, you will still question whether you’re making the right decisions in all areas of your children’s lives.
No matter how early you wake to get things organized and started for the day, sure enough, one of the children’s inner alarm clock goes off as soon as Mommy’s feet hit the floor.
No matter how late you stay up to accomplish the rest of the day’s duties when the rest of the house is already sound asleep, there aren’t enough hours in the day to ever be fully caught up.
No matter how much you preach to your children not to compare themselves to others, you find yourself sizing your parenting skills up against other “great” parents.
No matter how many times you pick up and organize the toys and clutter, they soon find their way back to the farthest places from where they belong.
No matter how hard you try to please everyone in the family, it’s safe to say not everyone will be happy or content with you at the same time.
Motherhood, you could say, can be a losing battle. It’s messy. It’s exhausting. And it’s probably one of the most humbling jobs a person can experience.
We work tirelessly. We put ourselves last. We make it our priority to put our families first and foremost in every decision of every day.
Yet why do we sometimes feel like we are failing? That we are coming up short? That no matter what we do and how hard we try, it very well may not be good enough?
But here’s the great thing: This job we have, the hundreds of hats we wear as mothers, each time we are called up to the plate, we get up, we show up, and by God, we do the best we can with what we have.
Today I spent hours in the sun with my four children. We ran through our backyard with bare feet, and if you saw any single one of us, you may have thought we hadn’t been bathed in days—a true sign of a great day, no?
But as I rested on our sidewalk and my little girl came to curl up in my lap, I had to smile.
I looked down at our grass-covered feet. I stared at the sweet toenails that she, herself, painted despite my telling her to wait for me.
I couldn’t help but feel that my lap was probably the most comfortable, safest spot for her in this entire world—and that every one of my children knows that it is their spot, whenever they need it.
My daughter then looked up at me, smiled, and softly whispered, “You’re my best friend in the whole wide world.” In that single moment, I felt like I’ve got this. Maybe it took these grass-covered feet to remind me, but I do.
The times I feel like I’m failing, I’m somehow reminded that, sure enough, I must be doing something right.