Mom guilt

It's like five degrees outside and I'm wishing the dog had some sort of ability to ring a doorbell when she comes back inside. Really, I wish I had a dog that would take care of business in the intended taking care of business area. Instead, she prowls around to favorite patches of land in other yards. Of course. There is some sort of karma coming for this, I'm sure. Great. I go to check the front door to see if she has been run over yet and she is huddled in a shivering schnauzer ball refusing to urinate in the neighbor's yards. My karma.

The kids are off to school. For the first time ever, I was gently turned down on an offer to check out a little blonde haired girl and take her out to lunch. Apparently I can not offer the soft tacos and recess opportunities that school affords. Knife to the gut. As I watched her long hair swaying out to the car, I called out, "Maybe I can eat with you Friday!" I was given a "That would be great Mom! "So I will cross my fingers that Friday is not frito chili pie/cinnamon roll day and we will laugh and joke over some saturated fat in the form of chicken nuggets. Peanut oil, right people? Let's keep telling ourselves that it's a lot better than the normal oil.

Mom guilt. It's a crazy thing, huh? I'm not here to write 'an open letter to Moms everywhere all around the world' or some other ridiculous titled article. I laugh every time some sort of letter penned by a passionate parent makes it's way around the internet and has thousands of likes and re-pins and re-printings. All I know is, I have been having some major Mom guilt lately. I fed my kids chicken pot pies from Braums last night and I could barely watch them while they shoveled double their daily allotted saturated fat portions into their mouths. Oh, of course it was so good and they thought I had made a new delicious dinner that was shaped like little pies.

No kids! In fact, you have a Mom that doesn't really get to bake at all right now. Or ever. You are going to have no memories of delicious smells wafting from the oven. I would really love it if the smell of bleach did it for you, and I could just pour a big pot of it on the stove and let it simmer. Delicious simmering bleach. Throw some cookies into the oven (that you didn't lovingly mix together with your apron-clad child) and call it good. Oh yes! And don't forget to pinch the square edges in just to make sure they look homemade, darling. 

I worry too much about  how my kids you are going to perceive their childhoods and all of their soon to be adult memories. I worry too much about how they are going to raise their kids based on how they were raised. Oh, not enough Mom guilt for you? Let's stack up two or more generations worth!! Not enough cozy holiday traditions? FAIL! Missing a fall portrait setting because you forgot to schedule them in August when the rest of the Moms picked out yummy fall outfits and called the photographer? DOUBLE FAIL!! Oh, and you just typed the word 'yummy' in a blog? Just go find the nearest bridge, lady.

What is wrong with this picture? Everything, I realize. And I can't really wrap up my feelings in a little bow and summarize this post down to an adorable anecdote or metaphor for life. The thing is, I don't have it all figured out. For now I have to be content with knowing I am doing my absolute best and my family knows that. 

If they don't, I know a crazy lady who inhales way too much bleach and has a nasty Mom-guilt sledgehammer in her back pocket. 

Lemme tell ya, it ain't pretty.

*Disclaimer: After correcting all of my typos, my husband told me I do a great job, our kids have parents that love them and they go lots of places and they have it really really good. Sledgehammer has been put away.....for the moment.