Super Mom

Super Mom is clearly NOT me, I have realized over the last three months that I just can't do it all no matter how hard I try. I have had a couple breakdowns while trying to be Super Mom, but have decided that I'm just not her and I'm okay with that.

Clean floors are hard to come by in my house, and you will probably find dishes in my sink and unfolded laundry in the garage. Why yes we do have a bare fridge, but we somehow manage to throw some sort of a meal together each night.

Noah and Aaden are three months old and this time went way too fast. Yes, a clean house is nice and feels good, but cuddling and playing with my sweet boys is what really matters and what we can all benefit from. As long as the laundry gets done every once in awhile and the floors get swept every so often, we will be just fine. I need to remember to cherish these moments and if the cleaning gets done, that's great, but if I layed on the floor and played with the boys for an hour, that's even better!

So to those of you in real life who might be visiting our house, yes I know it could use a good scrubbing, but know that I cuddled on the couch with one of those baby boys instead. So until the magic genie brings me a full time maid, I have cut my work load and I'm learning to deal with it, because in my eyes Super Mom does what she can to keep herself sane and her babies happy.

For now I will go cherish my last week before I go back to work and leave you with a poem sent to me by my Aunt Theresa.

Song for a Fifth Child.
Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo
The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
And out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
But I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren't his eyes the most wonderful hue?

Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.
The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.