Sometimes my kids don’t watch a single minute of TV all day, even days at a time, trading in relaxing on the couch for running in the sunshine, tossing the football, and climbing everything in sight.

Other times, they enjoy well over the suggested allotment of daily screen time.

Sometimes I throw elaborate birthday parties for them, whipping out all the Pinterest-worthy snacks and chalkboard signs and homemade decorations, going all out to celebrate their big day.

Other times, I buy a cake at the grocery store and throw up a few streamers.

Sometimes my kids are angels at the store, giggling as we wander up and down the aisles, making sure to keep their hands inside the cart, never once asking for anything beside the sticker at checkout.

Other times, they throw tantrums, grab anything they can get their hands on, and beg for all the things. All of them.

Sometimes I craft beautiful, nutritious, homemade meals, doling out perfect portions to everyone around our large, wooden table, ensuring that the kids try at least one bite of everything on their plates, even the salad.

Other times, we swing through the McDonald’s drive-thru for a cheeseburger and some french fries.

Sometimes we make it to church on time, casually strolling in, checking the kids into their classrooms, and greeting friends both old and new as we wait for the service to begin.

Other times, we sprint across the parking lot, wide-eyed children dragging behind us, standing awkwardly in the back as we search for empty seats in the middle of the second worship song.

Sometimes I bathe my kids a few times a week, smiling as they splash about, sudsing up their soft skin as they search for foam letters beneath the lavender-scented bubbles.

Other times, I hope the rather extensive post-dinner wipe down counts for tonight. And last night. And the one before that.

Sometimes I get down on my hands and knees, speeding Hot Wheels across the carpet, piecing blocks together to make a garage big enough to fit the dump truck, and snuggling up on the fuzzy, white rug to read books about astronauts and numbers and animals at the zoo.

Other times, I let them use their growing imaginations and play on their own, allowing them to enjoy the moment without needing to be entertained.

Sometimes the family’s laundry is done in one day—washed, folded, and put away, all by Monday evening.

Other times, it feels like I’m doing a load here and there all week long.

Sometimes I leave my phone in my bedroom and don’t give it a second thought until the kids are in bed, soaking up the joyous sound of their laughter and the precious faces they make as they play.

Other times, I spend far too much time scrolling, my eyes focused on that little screen more than on my sweet children.

Sometimes our home is really quite lovely, the floors swept and mopped, dishes cleaned, toys picked up, and the ever-mounting clutter tended to.

Other times, cracker crumbs and milk splatters litter the hardwood, dishes are piled high in the sink, toys are strewn about, and stacks of paperwork and mail and art projects can be found scattered across the countertops.

So those sometimes?

They don’t make me a perfect mom.

And those other times?

They don’t make me a bad mom.

Because sometimes, we'll do it all.

But other times, we won't.

And that's okay.

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