As I sip my Earl Grey tea and attempt to get some computer work done, my kids sit at the table with me painting pictures. It's not typically this tranquil. I'm usually a mess of yelling, scrambling, and fretting. Bills are past due, funds are unavailable, and here I am, just trying to make it through the day without cleaning up more than usual. But they wanted to paint, so... paint it is. Whatever keeps them occupied. I feel a tad guilty that I'm lacking the enthusiasm to engage in a more physical activity with them. A mix of anxiety, depression, hypothyroid, and the side effects of the medications I take for them have dulled my passion for even the most basic of things. The attention to my hobbies has dwindled to a distant memory. I can't remember the last time I was inspired to draw of my own volition without prompt or purpose.
Day after day, week after week, month after month... time drudges on and I survive. It's ok to accept being a mediocre mom. The kids are fed, clothed, and loved. As long as they're happy, I'm doing my best.
