The Ideal Mother

“Mom, where’s my baby doll?” shouted the youngest one, waking from his nap and not finding his baby doll beside her.

“It probably fell beside the bed, dear,” I yelled back from the kitchen, accompanied by the creaking sound of our wooden floor singing as someone moved.

“Mom, where’s the Lego figurine jar?” shouted the eldest with his Papuan accent.

“Where did you put it yesterday? I already told you, once you’re done playing, tidy it up and put it back in its place, as always! So, it’ll be easy to find when you want to use it again, won’t it, bro?” I replied, rambling in the mixed language we use daily at home.

“Honey, have you seen the oval company stamp?” My husband, not to be outdone, added to the chaos of our busy afternoon with his habit of always forgetting to put things back where they belong. It’s true what they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I muttered to myself with a wry smile.

That’s a snippet of my daily life, which seems to repeat itself with the same song every day. There’s always some item, big or small, that’s being looked for and is ALWAYS not in its place.

It’s like a song that’s played over and over, making the listener memorize the intro, the lyrics, the beat, the music, and even the ending, and eventually it becomes boring to listen to again. It’s the same with my ears, which have reached their saturation point hearing the same question over and over.

When I was still in school, I thought that my education—from kindergarten, elementary, middle school, high school, and S1, professional, to S2 degrees—was enough to be an “Ideal Mother” who could meet the criteria of a best mom: someone who can take care of her husband and home, can give birth to and raise children well, can cook nutritious meals that are a family favourite, can patiently get through the day with a smile and no nagging, and can be a physically and mentally healthy mother.

However, in reality, the title of “Ideal Mother” seems to be just a fictional concept, far from the reality of daily life. In fact, my formal education in school wasn’t enough to equip me to be the “Ideal Mother” of my dreams.

The reality is, I am just a mother who still needs to learn and continue to improve myself every day, because there’s always something I do that isn’t quite right. From my cooking, which is sometimes bland and sometimes too salty. I often run out of ideas for today’s menu to provide a balanced diet for my family. Not to mention a patience that is thinner than a dry tissue, I don’t know how to make it thicker, because every day it’s worn away by things as trivial as “putting things back in their place” which my husband and children are so careless about.

With every morning that dawns, I find myself believing that my years of schooling—from the innocent days of kindergarten to the rigors of post graduate studies—should have moulded me into an “Ideal Mother.” By definition, she is someone who effortlessly tends to her partner and home, nurtures her children with care, serves meals bursting with health and flavour, greets each day with patience as soft as silk and a smile as radiant as sunlight, and remains strong in both body and mental things.

Yet the truth is far more complex than any textbook ever described. The concept of the “Ideal Mother” floats like a distant mirage, shimmering but ultimately unreachable amid the bustle and imperfections of daily life. My formal education, as extensive as it was, feels like a fragile shield—never enough to prepare me for the unpredictable, tender chaos of motherhood.

I am simply a mother who fumbles and learns, stumbling through each day with both triumphs and missteps. The taste of my cooking sometimes lacks the depth I crave; at times it’s bland, at others, overwhelmingly salty. The scent of burnt garlic or the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread lingers in the air, reminders of my attempts and failures. My mind often whirls, searching for inspiration to create balanced meals, while my eyes scan recipe books and my fingers trace faded notes on aged pages. The sound of my children’s laughter, or their bickering over misplaced toys, echoes through our home, mingling with the steady hum of the oven and the clinking of utensils.

Patience, thinner than a tissue left out in the sun, slips through my grasp. I feel its fragility in my body—my heart pounding with frustration when I see scattered Lego pieces or when my husband, yet again, misplaces the company stamp. My skin tingles with irritation, but also with love as I hold my children close. My ears ring with the familiar chorus of “Mom, where is…” and in those moments, I reflect on my shortcomings, my hopes, and my fears.

Amid all these sensations—the taste, the touch, the scent, the sight, the sound—I am reminded that being an “Ideal Mother” is not about perfection, but about presence and growth. Each day is a lesson, each emotion a guide. I am a mother who listens, feels, learns, and loves—striving to be better, even as I accept my flaws. This is my journey, painted with every colour of emotion and every note of reflection, searching for the ideal within myself.

I seek only the Almighty’s guidance to keep learning and growing, striving to one day become an “Ideal Mother.” That is my prayer.

Kreator : Vidya D’CharV