Toy Included

The following is an excerpt from a novel I love. It is House Rules by Jodi Picoult. I hope it inspires and makes you think about life.
When I was little I remember wandering the cereal aisle and picking my breakfast based on what the reward was: A Frisbee with the Trix rabbit’s face on it, a mystery decoder wheel, holographic stickers. I could suffer through raisin bran for a month if it meant I got a magic ring in the end. I cannot admit this out loud. We are expected to be supermoms these days, instead of admitting that we have flaws. It is tempting to believe that all moms wake up feeling fresh every morning, only cook with organic food, and are equally at ease with the CEO and the PTA. Here’s a secret: Those mothers don’t exist. Most of us-even if we’d never confess- are suffering through the raisin bran in the hopes of a glimpse of that magic ring. In real life, I have to pick superglue out of the carpet, rarely remember to defrost a dinner, and plan to have BECAUSE I SAID SO engraved on my tombstone. Real mother’s know it’s ok to eat cold pizza for breakfast. Real mothers admit it is easier to fail at this job than to succeed. If parenting is the box of raisin bran, then real mothers know the ratio of flakes to fun is severely imbalanced. For every moment that your child confides in you, or tells you they love you, or does something unprompted to protect a sibling that you happen to witness, there are many more moments of chaos, error, and self-doubt. Real mothers secretly wish they’d chosen something for breakfast other than this endless cereal. Real mothers worry that other mothers will find that magic ring, whereas they’ll be looking and looking for ages. Rest easy, real mothers. The very fact that you worry about being a good mom means that you already ARE one.