Dear Mom Who's Trying to Do It All,
Cut that crap out.
Take a break.
Stop trying to be perfect. Stop comparing yourself to others. Stop trying to meet everyone's expectations.
You can't fix all your kids' problems and have all the answers. You can't heal all their wounds.
Sometimes, you have to let things go.
Sometimes, you have to let them have six hours of screen time a day... for two weeks straight.
Sometimes, you need to say, "No, I don't want to play Candy Land... or Chutes & Ladders... ever."
Sometimes, you have to pick up McDonald's on the way home... for the third time that week.
Sometimes, they need to get their own Band-aids and kiss their own boo-boos... especially when there's no blood.
Sometimes, they'll have to miss that class they love so dearly because sometimes, other things just come up.
Sometimes, you need to stop listening to the cacophony of other moms telling you the "right" way to raise your kids. There's always someone available to tell you the polar opposite.
Sometimes, you need to let the dishes sit and ignore the spaghetti sauce splattered on the stove and up the wall. Give the kids chores. Don't expect perfection; expect arguing. Then ignore it.
Sometimes, you need to put your ear buds in and listen to that music (on level 10!), watch Mad Men, go out for that grande mocha, stop at that garage sale.
Sometimes, you need to serve ice cream for breakfast.
Sometimes, you need to ask for help.
Sometimes, you need to give yourself permission to be an OK Mom. The harder you are on yourself, the harder it is on your kids.
Sometimes -- or rather all the time -- you need to not take your kids whining, complaining and manipulating personally. It doesn't mean you've done a bad job, it just means they're trying to get their way.
Sometimes, you need to say no and not feel guilty about it.
Sometimes, you need to remember that no mom knows what she's doing. If they say they do, they're lying.
Sometimes, showering is overrated. Makeup? Pfft.
Most times follow these four words: Sweatshirt, ponytail, yoga pants.
And remember: Kids are resilient... especially when they know how much you love them.
P.S. This is basically a letter to myself.