Mother, according to a well-known online encyclopedia, is:

“A female parent of a child. Mothers are women who inhabit or perform the role of bearing some relation to their children, who may or may not be their biological offspring.”

A mother, from the point of view of Wikipedia, sounds so perfectly neat and precise in definition. If only there was a textbook that was as neat and precise that could explain how to be the perfect mother and how to create a nice normal home.

I am a wife and a mother of four children in what often seems to be a crazy home. My husband is a busy working man, and my children busy growing — each personality dealing with their own dramas and joys according to their age and stage in life. We are a united home, but every now and then collisions occur, and I find myself explaining the kids to dad, and explaining dad to the kids.

It can be testing in our home when we have to get dressed up and be ready to attend an outing on time. I have a newborn who requires most of my time and attention in preparation to go out of the house.

Many times, my youngest daughter, a toddler, will scream and cry at the thought and process of brushing her hair; my eldest son will not be able to find clean socks and has lost his shoes; my eldest daughter, a young teen, will be emotional because she cannot find clothes to wear; while my husband might ask if I know where his shirt is.

By the time the family is in the car, I am irritable and short. I address the family with a firm word, that once we arrive at our destination, they are all to smile and be happy. We are to behave like a happy normal family.

Recently, an episode of the cartoon Bluey came on the lounge room TV screen. The episode was called ‘Dunny’. Chilli is the mother character in the cartoon, who does not want her children to use the word ‘dunny’. When children press their mother and question her as to why they cannot say dunny, Chilli responds,

“Look. I just want us to use nice words, so everyone thinks we’re a nice family.”

At first, I laughed at the mother’s words, as I related her comments to my own. As I reflected further on the comparison of myself and the cartoon character, I asked myself, “Well, do I care if people think we are nice and normal?”

My honest answer is still yes. However, there is a deeper reasoning for my comments, than just reflecting a surface appearance of my family.

Being a mother is my greatest blessing, my joy — it is my job. It is a job with no holidays, no retirement and at times no acknowledgement; regardless, it is an important job. It is my unconditional love for my children that makes me care.

Just like the Bluey episode on the TV screen caught my attention, I want to be the small screen of truth that catches the attention of my family, within the main screen of life.

I believe that as for me and my home, we will uphold a standard. A mother, though imperfect, I have a responsibility to bring up my children the way they should go.

When they are adults, they can apply childhood lessons, so that they have every opportunity to be the best versions of themselves and equipped with the tools the future may require of them.