by Barbara King

Created on: October 30, 2008

I grew up thinking my Mother was a good mother, in fact the best mother in the world! And when I had children I would be just like her. It didn't quite work that way.

My Mother was a stay-at-home mom, and the things I remember best are the delicious aroma of homemade bead, doughnuts chocolate chip cookies, and hot apple pie when I came home. I remember wishing I could have sandwiches made out of Wonder Bread, like some of my friends, instead of her bread all the time. There was always a hot meal complete with meat, mashed potatoes, gravy, vegetables, and of course a yummy dessert.

I, on the other hand, was not able to be a stay at home mom. My children came home to a frazzled mother trying to make a delicious meal out of my How to Make Nutrious Meals in Thirty Minutes or Less cookbook for my starving offspring. I always made a balanced meal and stressed the importance of vegetables, but there weren't the same smells that I remembered so well. My kids would beg for homemade bread and that frozen bread dough isn't half bad. Store bought cookies didn't give off much fragrance. I tried my best to make up for the week by baking and cooking great meals on the weekend, including homemade pancakes and waffles for breakfast. My kids didn't complain, but then they never had experienced what I had from my Mother. I felt guilty for not being at home all the time and giving them the same experiences I had had. I bought into the "good mother" myth and felt I fell way short.

My Mother kept the house spotless. She dusted and vacuumed every day, The floors and bathrooms were sanitary and I never had any chores, but drying the dishes. On the other hand, my kids helped clean the house every Saturday so that it wouldn't be condemned on us. My Mother always said, "A house should look like a home , not a furniture store.", to explain the occasional towel out of place." I relied on that phrase quite a lot when the kids were growing up to explain the piles of unfolded laundry, toys on the floor, etc.

When my kids were teenagers, they confirmed my worse fears by telling me what a rotten mother I was because I set curfews, checked on where they were and who they were with. I never remember telling my Mother I hated her. Again, I failed!

Now that my children are married and have children of their own, they share with me what a great mom I was and how they're failing in their quest to be a good mother. I just tell them to wait. Everything works out in the end.

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