I started honoring myself with this title pretty early on in my parenting journey, so it felt like a natural extension to make it the name of my blog when I started it. Let me be abundantly clear, though–this has always been and always will be a self-appointed title. And the super-neat thing is that it’s limitlessly open to everyone. Any gal worth her salt can stick this title on her day and strut the label with pride. It’s a universal badge of honor, as far as I’m concerned.
For me, there are two roads to becoming a Mom of the Year. It can be taken seriously. You know–those rare days when you actually ace out an impossible schedule and get everyone where they need to be on time? Or maybe it’s a day when you manage to just really connect with your kids. Everyone is laughing. Everyone is happy, and you’re just having fun being a mom, sort of like in one of those happy skippy movie montages. Being a Mom of the Year might be That Moment when you pick your kids up from daycare or the nursery, they see you and beam, ear to ear, as they run into your arms, just because you are Mommy. For one moment, even if a fleeting moment, you were somebody’s rockstar. Maybe you only got one small thing right, or things just fell briefly into place, but for that time, being a mom just felt really good. It was something to be proud of, and a strong pat on the back, along with a sizeable trophy, was very much in order.
The Mom of the Year title is also earned, well earned, spoofily. This happens on the days when you get everything wrong, it’s a sequence of one parenting fail after another and nothing is working. Or maybe just one event went epically awry. My go-to example of this is the day I locked my 8 mo. old son in the car in a parking lot. In the middle of February. When it was cold. Very cold. I panicked, I cried, I called AAA, and then the police. And probably the National Disaster Hotline too. The local Amish fire department arrived–with all 3 of their trucks and all 20-some of their men. Somewhere within all their whirling lights and screeching sirens and my prolific and dramatic tears, AAA arrived and casually popped the lock with a coat hanger. My son was fine. And I was officially a prize idiot. When telling my best friend about it that night, it was then that I first described myself as The Mom of the Year, and it just stuck. Believe me when I say I have managed to live up to the title every darn day since.
And you know what? I’m proud of that. I’m very proud of it, actually. It’s sad when we can’t be real as parents and moms. When we can’t applaud our successes, small or large, and laugh about our faults, whatever their variety. If I had a mission in this world it would be to be real and to encourage other people to be more real about themselves as we walk through this life together.
If you’re a Mom of the Year, declare it! Loud and proud! However you earn your title, please know that I’m behind you. This button below is up for grabs if you want an official badge to display, share, pin or print out and tape to your forehead. I’d be honored to have you claim the title with me.
If you’re interested in having a post featured here about why you are a Mom of the Year, let me know through e-mail, firstname.lastname@example.org. I’d love to share some!
Here’s the thing–we all rock, and we’re all in this together, so give yourself an award, and call it day. Whatever kind of day it was, you are a Mom of the Year.
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