I am not a failure, I am a mom.

Just read a fantastic post on Bad Mommy Moments.  It lead to the title of this posting.  I’ve beaten myself up a lot over the years… things I should have done and didn’t… things that I could have done, but didn’t.  The list goes on and on.

I made choices.  They led me to this point.  I can stop, look at everything, acknowledge some missteps and mistakes, then look at my family and go “Oh yeah, this is what it was all about.”

I have an almost two-year old son who does the best imitation of a suicidal cow I’ve ever heard, plus he’s got a sense of humor that won’t quit and snuggles like a latin lover.  I have a six-year old who is bright and strange and funny and loving.  I have a neurotic dog who MUST be attached to my right thigh at all times and a warm/wonderful/geeky husband that I love to the ends of the world and back again (and no honey, I don’t rank you after the dog… I promise).

I haven’t saved the world.  I haven’t invented something that makes life better for all of us.  I haven’t really used my degree, except as a great launch-off to become a blogger (yeah, baby!).  I know more than I ever wanted to about poop, vomit, phlegm, and other assorted bodily fluids.  I also know that two small boys are glad I’m alive.

It’s all good.

And I get to be a part of this weird/wonderful club of moms.  I get to share stories and laugh about it.  I get to drive my childless friends nuts with endless ravings about my kids.  And I’m lucky enough to have childless friends who love me enough to let me do it.

I may be a walking calamity… but I’m doing ok.

…and that’s all I can really expect.

Cheers from a slightly crazy mom,

moonfire

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