We’re all mediocre here

I want you to imagine something with me for a moment. Imagine you’re parked at the gas pumps outside the supermarket. You look over at the car on the other side of your pump. You see a mom, looking rather frazzled, messy bun hair, probably a stain or two on her shirt, getting out to pump gas. In the back seat are two kids. One is strapped into a forward facing booster seat, looking angry and screaming “mama” repeatedly, getting loud with each scream. The other child is older but is wailing in an all out tantrum that would rival most 3 year olds. He is crying as if someone has broken both his ankles Misery style. Then you glance to the front passenger seat to see a man, presumably the father and/or husband. It looks like he is doing nothing at all from where you stand.

Now, be honest. What would be your first thought? Would you wonder why the man of the family isn’t the one pumping gas? Would you think both children need a good old fashioned spanking? Would you judge that mom for not having combed her hair in several days or not bothering to put on a clean shirt to come out in public?

I wouldn’t blame you for any of those thoughts. Once upon a time I would have had them too. I may have thought way worse, to be entirely honest. I may even have been one of those dreaded pre-parenthood people who muttered under their breath that their future children would NEVER act like that. 

But, now, I AM the mom in that story. We have been at a gas pump with this exact scenario playing out. I have gotten out to pump gas, savoring the few short minutes of silence while the car doors are shut between myself and the screaming children. I have looked across those gas pumps into the judgmental eyes of a nicely dressed, perfectly coiffed stranger who has no idea how my day has gone.

I’d like to say that I’m “used to” the stares and the whispers. Most of the time I don’t notice anymore or I do my best to ignore them; but some days when you’ve already met the end of your emotional rope, that look of utter disgust on someone’s face, even for a second, just tips you over the edge. I admit there have been times I got back in the car barely holding back the tears. 

I try to remind myself that the stranger next to me does not know our struggles. They don’t know that my husband is blind and sitting in the car while I pump gas humiliates him. They don’t know that even though my oldest son looks 12, he’s only 10, and that ADHD has caused his emotional maturity to develop slower than other children. They don’t know that our 4 year old has a speech delay or that when he feels overwhelmed and can’t make us understand him it results in a total meltdown. They surely don’t know that I start every day in pain from fibromyalgia and am struggling to keep it all together sometimes.

Not every day is bad. In fact, most days are good and don’t look like the picture I painted earlier. Most of the time Cody can do far more than you’d expect from someone with less than 40 percent of his vision. He is a very independent man 95 percent of the time. He absolutely hates to admit when he needs me to do something for him. He is simultaneously the strongest and most hardheaded man I have ever known (and I love him for it).

Sam doesn’t have the tantrums or ‘meltdowns’ as often as he has in past years. We have finally found a combination of medicines, behavior therapy, and a reward system at home that keeps most of his challenging behaviors at bay. We still have trouble at times especially if he is tired or hungry or feeling overwhelmed. We have found in the last year that the emotional state of the people around him has a very big impact on how he reacts to situations.

Richard has come a very long way in speech therapy this year. We understand him far more often than we don’t. When we can’t quite catch what he is saying Sam is usually our translator. We call him “The Richard Whisperer”. He can understand every word his little brother says. But when Sam is having a meltdown it is LOUD and it is chaotic, and it scares little brother. When he is upset he is harder to understand. When he can’t make you understand what he is saying he gets even more upset.

You can see how the situation can very quickly snowball and get out of hand. It is a constant juggling act for Cody and me. We have to be masters at controlling our own emotions, words, and actions. Even when we are in a high stress situation or already on edge, or, God forbid, hurting or tired ourselves, we still have to practice complete self control. The kids need us to be calm in order for them to get calm. They feed off of our emotions and actions. If we are stressed, they are stressed. If we yell , they yell.  

Parenting is hard, friends. Parenting special needs kids is harder. Parenting special needs kids while dealing with obstacles or disabilities of your own can sometimes feel impossible. But Cody and I both decided a long time ago that our “disabilities” would not own us or control our lives. We are determined every day to give it our best and leave the rest in God’s hands. We trust God and each other and we get through it together. It is never easy. We go to bed on most nights wondering if we completely screwed up this whole parenting thing. Then we wake up the next morning and try again.

You might be feeling overwhelmed today. Maybe yesterday was your day from hell. Maybe you’re reading this right now while hiding in the bathroom with a package of secret cookies you don’t share with the kids. I want you to know, it’s okay and it’s going to be okay. YOU ARE A GOOD PARENT! Don’t let the stares, the whispers, the muttering, the slow head shakes from strangers get you down. You have two jobs to do in this life; trust God and raise your babies.

It’s okay to cry on the hard days. It’s okay to rejoice in the good days. It’s okay when you feel defeated. When you need a reminder that we are all flawed, we all feel like we are messing it all up, we are all feeling like mediocre parents, come here and take a deep breath. Remember, we’re all just doing our best and tomorrow is another day.

All the love,

Mama Moore