Welcome to Not-So-Ultimate Mommy—a real-life parenting blog for the perfectly imperfect. From fun kids’ activities to honest takes on motherhood, this space is all about finding joy, creativity, and sanity in the chaos. Whether you're crafting with toddlers or navigating parenting curveballs, you’re not alone—and you’re doing great (even when it doesn’t feel like it).
Being a new mom is hard under the most perfect of conditions. You're tired, sore, and probably dirty because you've forgotten to take a shower for the past week. And that's when you have the ideal situation.
When you have a baby who won't sleep, the situation is just that much worse. This was where I found myself when my second son was born. He didn't sleep. Ever. Oh, he'd nap for 10 minutes at a time maybe 5 or 6 times a day, but he didn't actually sleep. And since I was going through a divorce, I didn't have anyone to take over so I could catch a nap. That meant less than an hour of sleep per day, and none of that was consecutive. I was totally fried and losing my mind.
Still, I held in there. For five months. On an hour of sleep. Picture that for a moment. I was past being a zombie, and I had a 2-year-old and an infant to care for. Everyone was cranky, everyone was tired, and I think we were all insane. No one was even liking each other at the time.
I had to do something. So I made a decision that wasn't entirely conscious and was mostly driven by exhausted instinct and put the baby down. I put him safely in his crib one night and walked away. I closed the door behind me and collapsed on the floor. I literally did not have the strength to stay on my feet for another minute. It was sit down or pass out.
In fact, I think I maybe passed out. The baby was out of my arms for the first time in five months. I had no reserves left and needed to just sit there, back against the door. So I sat.
And the baby cried. I don't actually know how long he cried. It was more than a minute, less than 30 minutes. I was only semi-conscious, so I'm not exactly sure. But I do know that the crying suddenly stopped. Just stopped. Like some sort of magic. He'd never been quiet when not in my arms.
So my first thought, quiet naturally, was, "He's dead!" Give me a break. I was insane at the time. So I went back in. But just in case he was alive and actually sleeping, or just trying to trick me, I had to be sneaky. Which meant I became Ninja Mommy. I was probably much less impressive in real life, but in my demented state I remember being very sneaky indeed. I remember slinking across the floor and peeking into the crib like a pro. I'm sure I was more like a slug who couldn't see straight. Whatever.
And there he was, sleeping like a champ. A champ I tell you! And not in my arms. For the first time ever. In my relief, I fell asleep right there on the floor. Ninja Mommy indeed.
Did I feel guilty? Honestly, I was too tired to feel guilt. I didn't cry when he cried because I was mostly unconscious. I didn't experience any of the emotions I've heard other moms talk about when they let their babies cry it out. And I wasn't deliberately letting him cry it out. I was just too tired to do anything else.
The next day I took my baby to the doctor because I needed him to tell me that what I had done was okay. He patted me on the back and asked me why I hadn't done it sooner. And, of course, reminded me he'd suggested it before. Twice. I'd just been too tired to listen.
Armed with the knowledge that I was not hurting my baby, I did it again. And again. By night five he was only protesting by waving his arms and snorting at me (he still snorts when he's annoyed and he's 7 now).
I was sleeping! Both kids were sleeping! We no longer hated each other! Mission accomplished (not that I'd really had a mission). I know there are people out there who would say I was being cruel. I don't care. It was either let him cry or drop kick him. Yes, I really was that tired. And I really needed to do something, and I was acting only on instinct.
So what's the moral of the story? That we, as parents, do what we have to do. We do what works for us. Because that's all any if us can ever do.
We have a bit of a lazy summer around here, so we go to the zoo or water parks or any other place whenever we feel like it. Since it's been hot lately, the water park has been our top choice for the past couple weeks. And in these couple weeks, I've noticed the water park is home to some interesting characters.
The Germaphobe
Why this person even comes to the water park is beyond me. She brings her kids, then proceeds to tell them to stay out of the water because of all the bacteria. And don't you know someone might have peed in that pool? Yes, dear, we all know that. We just don't care because our kids are melting from the heat.
The Clueless Mom
Her 3 kids are cutting in line, poking other kids in the eyes, and drinking the water with no regard for Germaphobe's little tantrum over there. And where is Clueless Mom? Well, she might be on her phone, or maybe reading a book. But she totally doesn't notice her little one pushing yours off the ladder.
The Fun-Loving Dad
This guy is just rocking the water park. He has more fun than anyone there. Everyone either loves him or hates him. Including his own kids, who were all ready to leave 4 hours ago.
The Self-Conscious Mom
We've all been there. Tummy is too round. Breasts are too saggy. Butt is...don't go there. This mom is covered from head to toe and she won't go in the water even if she's melting from the heat. Have some sympathy. If you haven't been there before, you will be there one day.
Perfect Mom
You either hate her or you are her. She's in a bikini, actually looks good, and has her kids and everything else in order. Though you secretly pray for her to suffer a massive wardrobe malfunction, you also want to be her. But don't admit it or you're out of the Not-So-Perfect Mom Club.
Grandparents
These people are playing with the kids they've brought and are even playing with kids they didn't. And they're enjoying it, probably because grandparents are the only people kids listen to on a regular basis. Makes us all wish we were grandparents so our kids would listen to us as well...
The Creepy Guy
Why is there always one single guy with no kids standing outside the girls' washroom? I don't know either, but he's the reason we don't send our daughters to the washroom alone.
The Bored Lifeguard
He's supposed to be making sure no one dies, but he's been melting in the heat for the last 7 hours. This guy is mostly asleep, so don't count on him to help your little ones out of a jam.
There are other characters at the water park. Sleeping teenagers. The kids who apparently have no supervision. The weird concession guy. Try people watching the next time you're there. You'll laugh, shake your head, and have a great time.
When you're redecorating, and when you decide to involve kids in the process, it can seem like it never ends. Never. We'd finally reached the point in our Great Bedroom Saga where we could actually go to the hardware store. The planning was done. The room was clean and vacuumed (and I deserve a reward for getting my 9-year-old to vacuum without bribing or yelling). So naturally, I was off to the hardware store. With 2 kids in tow. That's surely not a recipe for disaster.
First stop: The Paint Department. That's where the fun always begins. Because how can you do anything if you don't know what colors are going on the walls? I had already decided that we'd use that 2-in-1 paint. You know that one that is paint and primer in one? I've used it before, and it's the absolute best. But you have to go with a good brand, like Behr. Yes, it's a little more expensive, but remember you're not buying primer.
So I know exactly what I'm getting. Just have to pick the color. Easy, yes? Not so much actually. First I have to get the kids to pick from the right section. I yelled, "That's OUTSIDE paint!" and, "That paint will drive Mommy crazy!" a few more times than I intended. I seriously thought about hot gluing them to the floor in front of the paint chips I needed them to pick from. And they have hot glue in store. And staple guns. How handy...
No, I didn't go get the glue. Or the staple gun. Instead I trapped them there and told them to pick. This should have been easy since they'd already decided on silver. But there were 10 different silvers and 2 boys. Did they pick the same one? Of course not. That would have made my life easier. So now we have two colors that honestly looked exactly the same to me (did I mention that I have just a touch of color-blindness?). So how to pick? I made it easy and lied. We needed 2 cans, I told them we'd get one of each. Then I get the one with 'silver' in the name (it was French Silver, if you're interested) and called it done. Also needed a deep brown (for painting the beds and shelves and other stuff), but I'd picked one out while they were arguing and said that one was Mommy's choice.
Were we done? Of course not. Now we needed paintbrushes and rollers. Do you think kids can pick these things quickly? Nope. They spent 45 minutes trying every single paintbrush in the store before they found ones they liked. We'd now been in the hardware store for well over an hour, our paint was still mixing, and we weren't done yet. Off to electrical and lights, which were luckily right next to each other.
Just as luckily, we only needed a faceplate for the light switch and a tiny extension cord (for that dragon light they'd insisted I order) from electrical. The faceplate had to be white, and there were only four options, but it still took 15 minutes to pick. We were now approaching the 2-hour mark and our cart was still depressingly empty. Paintbrushes, a faceplate, and an extension cord. Sigh. Now for lighting.
Now, it's important to note that the light in the kids' room is on the wall. On the wall. Let me repeat, on the wall. The light we choose, therefore, had to be on the wall. The wall. I even pointed this out to the kids and directed them towards the display of lights that go ON THE WALL. What do they do? For the first time they agree on something, but it's a chandelier. I refuse to buy it because it WILL NOT FIT. Crying ensues. They want the chandelier. Sales man, against what I'm sure is his better judgment, comes over, looking a little scared.
But he had a solution! They had just received a wall sconce that was pretty much a wall version of that chandelier. It wasn't even on the floor yet, but they had one. He went to get it, kids are dancing, I could have kissed him. I didn't due to the wedding ring on his finger, but I could have. Now back to the paint department.
And the kids have changed their mind. Not silver. Gray. So I tell them it's actually gray, and I'm so smart I knew they wanted gray (it was still French Silver with a high gloss finish). For some reason (possible a miracle sent by the gods), the actually believe me.
Now for the checkout. I just spent $560 because that light was so expensive. It's a light! And the kids want to add chocolate bars. More than one. And a couple drinks. What kind of hardware store has chocolate bars and drink? But I'm so tired I don't even care. $579 dollars now.
In the car, heading home, and I'm so tired I don't even care. We're not painting today. Cry all you want kiddos, painting will have to wait until tomorrow. Mommy needs a nap.
My youngest son is autistic. I knew this since well before he started school. I knew he was different from the time he was a month old and wouldn't eat if someone was touching him. I've known since he'd tap his fingers together, just staring at them as if they were the only thing in the world. I've known since BEFORE the doctors told me. My son is autistic and it's my job to protect him. I'll do anything I have to.
Not long after his official diagnosis, another mom I know, one without a special needs child, said to me, "Of course you're going to homeschool him." That would be best, right? Keep him at home where he's most comfortable and control what he's learning and how he's learning it. Sounded great at the time (he was 4, so it was 18 months before he could start kindergarten). At that point, he'd been in daycare for just over two years, and it had been a hard two years. Even with a worker with him every second of every day, daycare was hard. I couldn't help but imagine school would be so much harder.
After much debate with myself, I decided to homeschool my youngest. Then, thankfully, I got my head on straight before the month was out. What was I thinking? It would be a horrible idea! And here are just a few of the reasons why.
1. I have to work. That was the reason I'd been forced to use daycare in the first place. As a single mother, I don't have the option not to work. I may work from home, but in a typical day (Monday-Friday) I work about 12 hours a day. There's no way I can do that and teach a kid anything useful. I had to schedule in teaching my older son to tie his shoes. I couldn't possibly schedule in teaching my younger son all day every day.
2. I'm not qualified. This is probably my biggest problem with some of the people who homeschool. Let's face it, just going to school doesn't mean you can teach. I may have been the top scoring student in math, sciences, and English in my division, but I don't think I can teach all those things effectively. I'm a professional writer, not a professional teacher. So I thought I'd better leave it to the pros.
3. The world doesn't revolve around him. MY world may revolve around my children, but THE world certainly doesn't. My son is relatively high functioning. He still gets a worker at school, but one day, with help and proper preparation, he'll be able to live a mostly independent life. And when he's out there, living independently, he'll quickly discover that the world doesn't adapt itself to him. Not comfortable leaving the house? Unless you can get a job right away that involves staying in your house, you're kind of out of luck, kid. Can't cope with the people? People are everywhere. Get used to it. I could go on, but what's the point? The world is the world, and as kind as some people are, the world itself doesn't care that my youngest is autistic. If I keep him home now, it'll take all the longer to help him cope with the world outside our small family. And he does need to cope.
4. I like being "Mommy". I love the relationship my son and I have. I'd be fooling myself if I thought that relationship would stay the same if I was both "Mommy" and "Teacher". Let someone else deal with teaching him to read and how to walk in line (this has been one of our greatest struggles, actually). I want to be the one who teaches him how to smile and how to play.
5. Schedules are great. Not for me. I'm a nutty writer who can't remember what day it is without my calendar and three reminders from my phone. But my son lives and dies by a schedule. Having to get on the bus at a certain time EVERY DAY and not having the option to change that, EVER, is really good for him. He lives by the clock. I, however, can't. I don't think we'd mesh very well in the homeschooling department. In fact, if he was harping "Mommy, time for snack," at 10:30 EVERY morning, I'm pretty sure I'd totally lose my mind. I never do the same thing at 10:30, and with very good reason.
6. I am so tired of transitions. This is selfish, and I know it. But, as most people with autistic children will tell you, transitions just plain suck. You can prepare an autistic child for it as much as possible, but that transition that's looming before you is still coming, and it will still throw him for a loop. If I can make transitions someone else's problem, you can bet I will. Because Mommy needs to breathe for a minute.
7. He loves his brother. My older son is exactly 2 years older than my younger son and they're quite close. Whatever big guy does, little guy wants to do. And big guy loves school. The friends, the teachers, the bus, the smell of the classrooms (don't ask), he loves it all. No way would I pull him away from that, and no way I would force one kid to stay home and watch his brother skip onto the bus with a smile. That's just not fair.
8.I have no attention span. Seriously. I'm worse than he is (almost). I'm the writer who works on 9 different projects on any given day. Maybe 12. Teaching my son academics would require me to actually take medication to pay attention, and that medication actually curtails my creativity (I know, I've tried it). If my creativity is curtailed, I can't do my job. No job, no food on the table. And now we're starving.
9. I want him to be exposed to ideas that aren't mine. I've thought a lot about this one, and talked to many homeschooling parents who claim to homeschool because they want to control what their kids are exposed to. I don't need that much control. I want my kids exposed to as many different ideas as possible. I LIKE having no control (or very little) over the diversity of education my children receive. I'm not always right, after all.
10. They have more resources than I do. Unless I somehow win the lottery, I can't afford the resources the school brings to the table. I simply can't. Those resources are invaluable, especially for my autistic son. These resources include a full-time professional who is there specifically for my son at all hours of the school day. She is amazing. I can't afford her salary, and I can't keep her prisoner in my basement, so off to school my little guy goes.
This last reason was more than enough to convince me that my youngest was better off in public school. Don't get me wrong, I have only respect for those parents who pull off homeschooling effectively (let's admit that not everyone does), but for my autistic son, it's not the best option. Does he love school? Well, no. But he's slowly adapting. Grade 1 is wrapping up and we'll keep plugging along whether he likes it or not. Because we can't always love what's good for us, and what's good for him is going to school every day.
