Maybe There Is No Such Thing As “A Good Mother.”

We were riding up 285 from the airport. My husband was telling me of conversations he’d had with his sister. “She thinks mom was a bad mom.” He said. I laughed. Not because it was actually funny, but because my husband sounded so surprised at her opinion.

His mom was married and divorced within four years. She moved from New York to Germany to New York again before moving to Charlotte after the divorce. She raised two children by herself, with the assistance of her sisters and cousin. She was hard on herself I’m sure, but also needed to keep going because time was going and her children needed to be fed and tended to.

He told me about his sisters perception of their mother. How she wasn’t around sometimes and they had to make their own food. She talked about instances where she didn’t let them see their dad or that time a few years ago where she took her car away because she could no longer pay the note.

He told me about how many other instances there were. About the times she was there and she did take care of them. The many nights she was up late or our working to provide. He told his sister she was gravely mistaking; their mom wasn’t perfect, but she was definitely a good mom.

I thought about that for a while. What makes a good mom? I asked myself this probably for the first time and even began to give an answer. I think a good mom is one who cares for herself first and then uses that love to care for her children. But I stopped myself, because the reality is, nobody really knows what a good mom is. It’s all perception and perspective on what is important in life and what we feel we need to see and believe to be healthy and happy.

I had a good mom, I thought. She was there. She cared. She did her best. She tried to make us happy and raise us right. She taught us things. And sent us to her our room as punishment. She made sure we had what we needed for college and she still advocates for us til this day. She was a good mom; she still is a good mom.

I look at my daughter and my son and the way I’m raising them. To be free, to have a voice, to be respectful. I say yes and no and give them hugs and kisses. I play. And I also say go away sometimes when I’m frustrated. I give them healthy meals when I can and when I’m tired, we go to Chick Fil A. I limit their candy and I am there for them when they need me. They are only 4 and 3; they may not know what it means to have a good mom. Neither will they remember these moments when they’re 29 and 30. They’ll remember the things I haven’t even done yet. The moments I hurt them. They’ll remember when they felt abandoned and when they felt alone.

They’ll remember the good times and they’ll also remember the bad. They’ll be aware of my good qualities, and also, aware of my bad ones — maybe. Or maybe, they’ll only remember the good. Maybe I’ll learn to be so healthy and balanced that I’ll only show them support and love and all the things they’ll need to consider me a “good mom.”

But what if they don’t? What if, when they get older, they too will be sitting in a car, arguing about whether or not I was a good mom? And I will be somewhere oblivious, hoping that I did a good job; not knowing if time told a good enough story to determine so.

I don’t think it matters. I think, moms everywhere are all doing their best. We’re all trying. Whether we’re doing a good job or not is all up to us to decide. The beautiful thing about it all, is that when we do finally hear from our children about what kind of mom we were, we’ll hopefully be too far gone on a Mojito or sex on the beach to really care what they think.

Do the best you can. Love yourself as much as possible. Learn more than you criticize and pray that whatever your children need, will be what they receive.