To "Real" Mothers Everywhere

Reading books by Jodi Picoult is one of my guilty pleasures. I just finished "House Rules" today, which was fascinating given my recent project on Autism for one of my classes last semester. The ending was anti-climatic, though it was overall a good and entertaining read. This one passage stuck out to me and I wanted to share it with all of you real mothers out there:

"When did they stop putting toys in cereal boxes?

When I was little, I remember wandering the cereal aisle (which surely is as American a phenomenon as fireworks on the Fourth of July) and picking my breakfast food based on what the reward was: a Frisbee with the Trix rabbit's face emblazoned on the front. Holographic stickers with the Lucky Charms leprechaun. A mystery decoder wheel. I could suffer through raisin bran for a month if it meant I got a magic ring at the end.

I cannot admit this out loud. In the first place, we are expected to be supermoms these days, in stead of admitting that we have flaws. It is tempting to believe that ll mothers wake up feelings fresh every morning, never raise their voices, only cook with organic food, and are equally at ease with the CEO and the PTA.

Here's the 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 the magic ring. [...]

Real mothers wonder why experts who write for Parents and Good Housekeeping - and, dare I say it, the Burlington Free Press - seem to have their acts together all the time when they themselves can barely keep their heads above the stormy seas of parenthood.

Real mothers don't just listen with humble embarrassment to the elderly lady who offers unsolicited advice in the checkout line when a child is throwing a tantrum. We take the child, dump him in the lady's cart, and say, "Great. Maybe you can do a better job."

Real mothers know that it's okay 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, than real mothers know the ratio of flakes to fun is severely imbalanced. For every moment than your child confides in you, or tells you he loves you, or does something unprompted to protect his brother than you happen to witness, there are many more moments of chaos, error, and self-doubt.

Real mothers many not speak the heresy, but they sometimes 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."

(pages 156-157)