It’s Saturday and it smells like muffins. Some moments were a struggle. My boy says, “It seems like you’re always either having a really good day or a really bad day.” I said this one isn’t too bad but sometimes I just have to move through it.
Like getting Fiona dressed and her teeth brushed. I don’t necessarily enjoy those activities, especially since now that I’ve said “Fiona not in Mommy’s face, it’s the one place she wants to put her hands and her toys while I’m down on my knees dressing or diapering.
I spoke to my friend about my regular Motherhood overwhelm and she said it seems like maybe, since I had a rough childhood, maybe I’m really hard on myself. I’m trying to create this mythical childhood for my children and my expectations may be high. I agreed.
I have buttermilk in my refrigerator because it makes yummier baked goods. Today I found the recipe for buttermilk muffins in the Joy of Cooking. I made half of them with chocolate chips and half with strawberries. My children have no idea that other children don’t probably get freshly made pancakes on school mornings. They take their luck for granted. And as I said in this post, I’m OK if they don’t truly know the hardship that other children suffer.
The muffins are for a church potluck where Eamon gets to find out who his secret mystery friend has been. We’ve given our children family, community, clean diapers, milky sippy cups on demand, and unconditional love. And muffins. And that is truly all that children need to grow up mostly functional. And I’m good with my motherhood over-achievements so far. Tossing in some radical self-care just in case though.
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