“You’ll never stop me!” my 3-year old daughter laughs like any good villain as she is sent to her jail, I mean, room, for a time-out, so sentenced due to criminal mischief. This defines my days.
It makes me wonder, how do my friends with 6, 8, 12 kids do it? Have these moms had some kind of divine revelation that I didn’t get? Does it suddenly click when you’ve given birth to that magic #6? How do they do it?!?!?
I’m the oldest of 5 kids
. I know, for a fact, that my mom is the heroine of her own life story. Any one who could handle the 5 of us deserves that title. However, my mom keeps me awake at night. I’m pushing 30, have 3 kids of my own, a business, a mortgage, a dog & cat, and am about to get 6 baby chicks. Yet I know this is nothing to compare to what my mom had to deal with raising 4 kids (my mom gave birth to 3 kids in 4 years, and #5 was born after we moved to town) in the mountains with no neighbors, a party phone line, a wood-burning stove to heat the whole house, and anywhere from 3-9 dogs, 2 cats, a horse that would sneak from a neighbors a 1/4 mile away to come eat our dog food, & a mouthy oldest child to top it off. My mom is a marvelous cook, cake artist extraordinaire, therapist, an excellent chauffeur, an expert grocery shopper, an artist with a vacuum. Nowadays, she’s usually so calm and collected. She’s the not-always-complimentary voice in my head urging me to do better.



So I lay awake at night, going through my day in my head, seeing how I got upset with my kids, how the day care kids frustrated me with their constant nattering. How the dog knocked me off my feet while trying to catch the cat. I beat myself up trying to think of how my mom or my friends would have handled it. I do so many things the same as my mom did/does. I play classical music all day. I grew up with it and it helps calm me. I cook as much as I can from scratch. There’s something very soothing about chopping up veg for a mirepoix. I yell at my kids but try to hug them after. I attempt to decorate my kids birthday cakes. I pray as I change diapers (mostly I pray for patience.) Where am I going wrong? What’s so different? Is my temper that bad? Why can’t I be more like the super-moms I know without losing my essential Krysia coolness?
As I write this, I think I have the answer. These super-Moms, of which my mom is one, must have a super-secret pill that they take at breakfast with their morning tea/coffee that gives them boundless energy and optimism. It gives them the courage to put that cup down and face their child-filled day, kiss a hundred boo-boos, and milk goats.
All I want to know is, where can I get some? Canada, maybe?