I am not habitual. I am not routine. I am not particularly disciplined, thought I’d very much like to be.

I am spontaneous. I am adventurous. I am random. I am sometimes brave, and always passionate.

The world tells me to be a good mom I need to set my alarm at 5 or 6 am every morning to achieve a certain check list before my kids are awake. That happens some days – not every day.

There are weeks I have a glass of wine – or two – before bed while my husband is at work and I’m in complete survival mode. My alarm clock is usually my 10 month old the following morning. There are weeks I go to bed at 7:45 pm right after my kids doze off, and I’m up at 5 am for a spin class at the local YMCA. The point is, it’s not ever the same.

I have a planner. I have a few actually – one for work, one for our family, etc. I’m obsessed with planning, scheduling, and laying out our life perfectly – but the reality is life doesn’t follow my perfectly planned play book, does it?

When did being a good mom start to mean sticking to the family planner and daily routine? Does it mean the same alarm clock beep every morning, the coffee pot set and scheduled the night before, and the same bedtime every night? Because if that’s being a good mom, I can’t do that.

The thing is, God didn’t pick a creature of habit to mother my children… he actually picked me.

He picked me.

He picked the one who is ADHD about her work out routine, diet, and sleep patterns. One week I’m an avid runner, the next I can’t be bothered to put down the latest Kiera Cass, Suzanne Collins, or Beth Moore, to head to the gym. One week I’m eating strictly paleo (or gluten free) the next week all that’s on the menu is coffee and chocolate. One week, I’m spending 5 hours a week at the public library with my growing readers, the next I’m deciding it’s educational for them to watch the Hallmark channel all day long in honor of the Christmas season. You get the picture, I think.

My kids might not learn about alarm clock patterns from me. But, they might learn to book a flight with two days’ notice to see a dear friend. From me, they probably won’t learn about nutrition (thank gosh they have their dad for that), but they’ll learn to be 10 minutes early, rather than one minute late, to everything. They might be confused about my discipline methods, always changing, and never consistent (probably the one thing they should be), but I’m hoping that they will learn I love them immensely. They’ll learn I tried everything in the book(s) to be the best mom to them, to show them how head over heels crazy I am about them. Always wanting their life to be exciting, adventurous, meaningful, and never boring or predictable. I didn’t ever aspire to be a good mom to them, really, anyone could do that. I wanted to be a great one.

Babies, I’m sorry if mommy took advantage of working from home to sleep in too much, instead of cook you eggs in the morning. I’m sorry if I yelled at you for asking me the same question 15 times, following it with 25 I love you’s – I’m sure that was confusing. I’m sorry if I made you quit your pacifier too early, only to give it back when you face planted learning to walk and I melted. I’m sorry I told you’d I’d never limit how many books I read before bedtime only to change my mind when I realized you’d really ask to read your whole bookshelf. (I love you for loving books the way I do, by the way.) I’m sorry – but I hope you see how much I love you, I hope that love covers many imperfections. I hope you see how I would do anything under the sun for you, to raise you authentically and genuinely, as my own. I’m sorry I can’t teach you perfect habits; I hope I can teach you messy love.