Mom Guilt

We've all experienced mom guilt:

When you should be getting your floor time in with your little ones and you really want to see today's Oprah show, so you play from afar by offering an occasional "That's great!" or "Wow!" while your eyes are still pinned to the TV.

Or when you just plop them in front of the TV/DS/Wii/ipod/DVD player so you can get your work done/exercise in/phone call made/take a shower. We have ALL done it and if you say you haven't, well then you're a liar.

For the most part I always TRY to participate in something. I make a mental tally of how much time I have dedicated to spending with the girls - especially the little one because she is still home a lot with preschool. So after being asked to play Lalaloopsy, or dollhouse, or puzzles, or painting, or any other given game for the umpteenth time, I experience major mom guilt.

Why does my kid have to ask/beg me to play something with her 3,573 times before I DO it? Even I get sick of hearing my own excuses: "OK honey, I'll be there in a minute," or "Go get started and I'll be right there," or "Let me just do this one last thing and I'll play with you."
The thing is that most times, I AM really busy, but there are some times when I could totally do it but am being completely selfish because, God bless it, I just sat down and want some time for ME. Am I building up the mom guilt in my own head? Or am I expecting too much of my kids to be resourceful and creative and play on their own?

A funny thing happened this afternoon, which prompted this posting. My girls were zombied out in my room watching TV on my bed this afternoon after school, the house was completely quiet. I got a call from my neighbor upstairs requesting that her daughter come downstairs for a playdate with my girls. I hung up, opened the bedroom door and nonchalantly announced: "Girls, Ava is coming downstairs for a playdate."

The reaction was as if someone just lit an M80 under their butts. They physically FLEW about two feet off the bed, turned off the TV and zoomed past me all in a matter of milliseconds and proceeded to scream wildly up and down the hallway asking which door she will be coming down from. "Front or back mom?!?!?" Isabella went sliding into the living room, catching herself from falling by holding on to the doorknob while opening the door.

Nevermind the closets full of toys, the electronic gadgets, the playing amongst themselves, the conversations or the TV. You would think they had been locked away in an empty concrete room, in straightjackets, and they had just been released. Can it possibly be that bad or is the mom guilt complex rearing its ugly head in MY head...yet again?

~Cathy