a post in which mothers' guilt rears its ugly head

UPDATE from Parker, 4:22pm: "The TV got all dried now." (In case you don't speak toddler, yes, our upstairs television is working again.)

I don't know why we all have mothers' guilt, but we do. Actually, I can think of lots of things that can contribute to mothers' guilt, but it's certainly unnecessary. After all, mothers are human. As much as we might like to velcro on our capes, fly in, and save the day, Supermom doesn't really exist. We all make mistakes, and that's okay.
You know what else? Our children are human. One of my neighbors across the street told me that her friends used to ask her, "Don't you trust your kids?" Her response was, "Of course I do! They're my kids. I trust them to make mistakes!"
So when you put together a combo of a human mother and human children, mistakes get made. By everyone. And that's okay. But today, in our house, mothers' guilt was alive and well.
Let me set the stage:
It's not quite 6:30 am. C wakes. I wake Daddy A, and ask him to get up. (After all, I reason, I got up with him at 3:00 this morning to give him an Orajel refill. Never mind that Daddy A was up with him at 11:00 last night, I want to sleep in.) No dice - it's my turn to get up first. By the time C's diaper is changed, P's awake too, and he wants Daddy A. He tells me to go away and runs to our bedroom door and begins banging. I pull him away.
I tell myself to apologize for being selfish when Daddy A gets up, and our morning starts. I feed the boys, and then I start the dishes. I put on a Thomas DVD and start washing up. I grab a clean dish towel from under the sink and work away. Not much later, P calls to me. "Mommy? The movie's not workin'!"
Upon entering the living room, I am horrified to find that P has been spraying the telelvision with a bottle of (safe, natural) cleaning spray. The floor is soaked, the television is soaked, and the screen is black. (The red light beside the power button is still on, though.)
And despite my resolve to apologize and move on, my mothers' guilt is back. I begin frantically toweling things, asking where the spray came from, and generally freaking out on the inside while trying to remain calm on the outside. (Incidentally, remember two paragraphs ago when I grabbed that clean dish towel? Apparently C grabbed the bottle of cleaner while the cabinet door was open - he's a bit of an opportunist like that - and delivered it right into his brother's hands.)
All sorts of mothers' guilt-y types of thoughts flood my head. What if one of the boys had gotten hurt? I let the kids break the television. Who lets their kids break the television? We can't afford a new telelvision! What will I tell Daddy A? Why wasn't I watching the boys more closely? How could my kids have a bottle of cleaning solution - even a safe, natural cleaning solution - without my knowledge? Is this my fault? Did I place such an emphasis on things being clean that P felt compelled to clean? (I've since decided no - P felt like it would be fun to spray a liquid all over the place, and cleaning solution was available.) And of course, the crowning glory, What kind of a mother am I?
So, what kind of a mother am I? A human one! I love my children, but I'm not perfect. Sometimes I turn my back when I shouldn't, and sometimes I'm cranky, and sometimes I wash the dishes instead of watching a Thomas DVD. Thankfully the boys didn't get hurt.
I tried fixing the television drying off the television and the surrounding areas and hoping that after it "dried out" the TV would work again. I also tried using the hair dryer to "dry it off a bit." Alas, I'm not only a mother who loves her kids, I'm now a mother with a broken television.