Day 132: Confessions

They say confession is good for the soul, and I'm counting on it! 

In the past couple of weeks there has been a lot of yelling (I said put that away NOW!), threatening (If you don't put your pajamas on right now, we're not reading!), shaming (I can't believe you woke Max up!), blaming (Why am I yelling? Because you're making me angry!), and intimidation (a nice combo of all of the above that I call the 'House Blend').

I've felt like a failure and a monster. I've felt unworthy of my children and unforgivable. But despite all of this, they somehow continue to adore and accept me. And as I'm reminded that God does the same, I'm motivated to pull myself back up, make changes and keep moving forward. Because to waste all that love and forgiveness by refusing to accept it would be criminal. And to continue on with the labels I give myself in the name of justice and what I deserve would only bring us more of the same.

When I step away from treating myself to an equal dose of the House Blend, I can finally see where it's all coming from. I could easily blame it on stress as so many of us do, but that would only be scratching the surface. At the root of it all is control, and what's driving that need for control is fear.

As a general rule, we're all stressed out and it's taking a toll on our health, our relationships and our quality of life. But I think stress is a really crafty word we all use to cover up the reality that fear is everywhere in our culture and pervading our lives.

When I'm angry (stressed) because I can't get Jackson out the door on time, the truth is that I'm afraid: that we won't get to an appointment on time, that we won't get all our errands done before lunchtime, that we'll be late in getting home and the boys won't get to their naps soon enough, that what I don't get done today will pile up on me tomorrow - that I won't be able to cope with less than ideal circumstances.

When I'm frustrated because he's being loud a normal two year old while Max is asleep, the truth is that I'm afraid: that Max won't go back to sleep, that he'll be fussy if he doesn't sleep long enough and I won't be able to get anything done, that it'll throw off his next nap and then bedtime, that his waking will interfere with whatever task I had slotted for me and Jackson during his nap - that I won't be able to cope with less than ideal circumstances.

And sometimes it's not even about them! Sometimes I'm just stressed about all the things I have to get done in addition to my job as their mother, and I let that fear - of being inadequate or incapable of doing it all - infect my interactions with them too.

It's okay to try to get us moving on time by preparing earlier (not by barking orders at a tiny person with underdeveloped impulse control) and it's okay to try to keep our home quiet for Max's nap by heading outside or reading to Jackson (not by shushing and shaming). Being proactive in order to make things easier would be a great idea!

But things have been spiraling downward because I'm consistently giving myself over to fear, and because I'm more invested in avoiding unfavorable circumstances than I am in enjoying my children and treating them with the respect and dignity they deserve. I'm making the happiness of our home conditional, and it doesn't have to be that way.

I'm going to make a conscious effort to break the cycle by calling a spade a spade. When I feel stressed, I'm going to ask myself, "What am I afraid of?" and "Will it be okay?" Because when I identify the likely inconsequential fear (a delayed nap, really?), nine times out of ten the answer to the latter will be yes. And the rare time that it is a legitimate fear, I'll be able to consider how to cope with "worst case scenario" without dishing out the House Blend.

I am capable of coping with less than ideal circumstances and even experiencing joy through them, so why keep robbing myself of that?

Day 29: So This is a Tantrum

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

Holy. Crap. I thought we had seen Jackson's first tantrums, but apparently that was just child's play. This was the real thing. There was no gentle fall to the floor in protest, no loud complaints, no statement of his need. Instead it was like he was possessed; nothing coming from his mouth was coherent, the screams were louder and more violent than anything I have ever heard from a human being, and he physically fought me so hard I finally had to throw him over my shoulder with no jacket and trudge through the wind and snow to the car just to save everyone in the chiropractor's office from enduring the rest of it.

Here's the kicker: It was all my fault.

This isn't just the mommy guilt talking. This is the reality. I started us down the path toward this tantrum before breakfast, and instead of hitting the breaks, I accelerated through it, causing even more damage. Here's what happened:

I gave myself a free pass on the detox diet Saturday because we had friends over for food and drinks, and I've been exhausted and irritable since. Today was no exception, and on top of it Jackson decided to get up an hour early. I managed to keep Max asleep which meant the living room was off-limits for the morning. Of course that means it's the only place Jackson wanted to be. So I spent the morning hushing and herding him and, I'm sure, making him feel unable to do anything "right." I had set the tone for the day and it reeked of resistance.

We decided to go to a friend's house before our chiropractic appointment, which may sound like a positive turn to the day, but actually made things worse. I should have been realistic about how long it would take to get ready and not scheduled anything in between. I'm not capable of being calm, patient or responsive when I'm rushing to get us out of the house; I know this about myself and should just avoid putting myself in the situation.

We had a power struggle over going potty before we left and with each minute that ticked by I got more aggravated. In hindsight, I think Jackson was showing me with his refusal to pee and incessant request to play with me upstairs that he needed a calm day at home with no appointments, but I ignored it. Instead I got mad and read him the riot act about "not listening" (aka not doing exactly as I told him with no questions asked regardless of his current feelings or needs or how unloving I was in my request). Let's just say it was a bad morning full of things I'm not proud of. We didn't get going fast enough to fit in the play date, so we headed straight for our appointment.

The car ride provided me with enough "alone time" to calm down and compose myself. I apologized and told him how much I love him, but was met with silence, which was really strange. So when we got there I reiterated those things as I was getting him out of the car seat and gave him a kiss, but he still seemed pretty quiet. I saw a problem and didn't take the time to address it.

When we got in he went to the toy box like usual and chose a basket of pretend food to bring in while we all got adjusted. But he wasn't moving fast enough for my liking (God forbid anyone have to wait a minute or two because I allowed my child some transition time) so I grabbed his hand and started toward the room. He protested loudly and said he needed the bread. Fortunately he found it right away because I had no intention of waiting - that's how far out of my mind his needs and feelings were today.

As our chiropractor opened the door for us Jack started saying something about squash (can you tell how closely I was paying attention?), shook his food basket and finally threw it on the floor and started yelling and crying when I turned and brought Max into the adjustment room. He knew I wasn't connected, he knew I had been resisting him all morning and treating him with disrespect, now I wasn't even listening to what he was saying and even walking away from him and he had had enough. 

He cried and yelled as Max and I were adjusted and refused to come into the room. All I could think about was what the other person in the room was thinking about my "lack of discipline" (strange passers by are one thing, but when you know the philosophy of your audience it becomes exponentially harder to ignore them and focus on what you know your child needs). I nursed him for a minute in the changing room to try to calm him down, but for some reason felt like we just needed to go. Again, not taking into account what he needed at that moment. I threw all the fruit back into the basket and shoved him out of the room crying. When I tried to get his jacket on things really escalated. By this point I was so far beyond frazzled I didn't know what to do, so over my shoulder he went.

At the car he wouldn't get into his car seat so I tried to physically force him. He got angrier than I've ever seen a person get and made sounds I've never heard before. All the while poor Max had been along for the ride, but now he was starting to get scared and cry. I was feeling absolutely desperate to stop the tantrum, but somehow I was totally disconnected from all the things I know and believe and I kept grasping for ways to externally control him instead of meeting his needs. 

Was I ever going to get him home? Was he going to freeze to death before I could get a handle on the situation? Was the screaming ever going to end? Were people passing us in the parking lot going to call the police? In an almost out of body experience I found myself trying to force him into his seat with my hand over his mouth, his eyes wide with fear and rage. Oh no! How did we get here!? I finally woke up. I took him in my arms and started bawling. We sat in the front seat together while he calmed down enough to get a few words out. I asked what he was so angry about and he replied, "Because Mommy wasn't treating me very nice today." Devastated doesn't begin to describe how I felt then or how I feel now. This isn't one of those times I can chalk it up to a learning experience; there's no bright side. I flat out failed all of us. And I am completely ashamed of myself.

His every movement had been critiqued and controlled from the moment he woke up, and I had been short, impatient, and disrespectful all morning, meanwhile expecting the opposite from him. I was putting all that on his little two-year-old shoulders and it was too much weight for him to carry. On top of that, I ignored all the signs of distress along the way and even failed to "show up" for his tantrum. It was not his fault, it was mine.

Rather than feeling a desire to meet the need he was showing me, I was feeling angry that I couldn't stop him and mortified because everyone in the office had a front row seat. Rather than loving him, comforting him and helping him through his intense feelings, I tried to smother the symptoms while I fueled the fire. In every way, I was more concerned about the people around us than I was about us - more importantly him.

In hindsight I know the severity of the situation was because of his own detox process and probably my cheating on Saturday. For the second day in a row he woke up from his nap drenched in sweat and his mood and self control are definitely tied closely to what's happening in his body. But none of that changes the seriousness of my poor choices. 

So if you want authenticity, here it is! You've just been invited into the worst day of our two and a half years. I'm trying to be gentle with myself (and I hope you will be too!), but I figure I might as well ride the failure train into self-beating station for the night. Breathe in...breathe out...It's over and I can't change it. I can only move on and thank God for a new day up ahead.

Day 25: SpongeJack Copy Pants

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

You've heard it before: Children are like sponges, soaking up everything they see and hear. Everything. And just in case I ever forget, Jackson is happy to remind me. Take the food-meets-floor stage around 12 months. I watched him throw a pea to the ground, look me square in the eye and say, "Dammit, Jackson!" Whoops! Guess that one was slipping out pretty frequently, huh? Impressive language skills, but not quite what I was going for.

Or how about this morning when Max was yelling and he went over to him, squatted down to his level and said with a straight face, "Max, I can't take any more whining and complaining." *Facepalm* Not exactly the message I want him to take in, and certainly not what I want him regurgitating on other people. In fact, I don't even remember saying it to him, but since I'm the one he's with every day, we all know the buck stops here.

For all the things I'm conscious of modeling, there are so many more that slip under my radar. Being Ms. Negative means I dwell on the examples of my failures. But today I thought I'd squeeze into the telephone booth, lose the pessimistic lenses and try on some new tights. 

Happier than a mom at nap time. More optimistic than Mahatma Ghandi. Able to leap to positive conclusions in a single thought. Look, coming out of the darkness. It's a zen master. It's a swami. Dun-da-da-dunnnn...It's Captain Bright Side!

Okay, okay, so I don't exactly have optimistic superpowers. But I do, now and then, try to see the world through rose colored glasses, and today just happens to be one of those day. Literally every moment I'm with my children, I'm modeling. They see everything from the way I interact with people at the grocery store to how I treat their dad, and even how I treat myself. And they're picking up more good things than bad. I see the way Jackson respects other people and rules set in other places, how he comforts Maxwell when he's upset and asks his dad how his day was, and I know it's because he saw it, not because I taught it.

When I toss a book onto a pile and he very seriously tells me, "Mommy, do you think you should be more respectful with the library's book?" I can be proud that he has soaked up the value of taking extra care with things that aren't ours, not to mention the value of respectful communication. When he walks up to a little boy at school who's upset and hands him a toy saying, "Here, will this make you feel better?" I smile and know that he has learned to take care of other people by watching me do the same.

Sure he throws something when he gets mad sometimes (who knows where he got that one *looks around nonchalantly whistling*), but he also gains composure quickly, talks through the problem and spontaneously apologizes. He may be picking up a few *ahem* less-than-positive things from me, but he's also getting a mountain of valuable tools and traits at the same time. The more I focus on those, the more I will consciously and unconsciously show them.

Day 24: Don't Screw it Up!

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

There's a reason Mom is the topic of discussion on every therapy couch (and by the way, if I thought the couch really existed, I would start therapy just to get a break and take a nap!). As a mother, I am the most influential person in the lives of my children. That's a pretty huge responsibility, one that I take very seriously. Maybe too seriously...

It's true that the way I communicate with them and others will be their model for communication in every relationship to come. Yes, what I show and teach them about self-respect and self-worth will be the foundation of their own self-image someday. Of course, the way I feed them will form the basis for their future nutritional choices. No question, the way they see me manage emotions will provide the blueprint for what they do with their own emotions. Without a doubt, the values I show them will be the building blocks of their integrity. And why wouldn't the way I discipline them shape the way they interact with the world and even parent their own children some day? For better or worse, I am the most significant influence in their lives present and future.

All of these things and many more add up, and I start to feel pressure, immense pressure, to perform perfectly or else. Because if I don't, I'll "screw them up," right? Well, yes, if you consider the fact that we're all screwed up! But not quite, when you look around and see capable and compassionate adults from homes that were anything but perfect. I'm lucky that Dad, an almost equal second in the race for life-altering influence, makes up for my shortcomings. But even that isn't the reason I won't screw them up.

My children didn't come to me as blank slates. Nor did they arrive as shapeless mounds of clay to be molded into any form I please. They came to me as whole human beings, with personalities and temperaments already in place. They are malleable, not mutable. Whatever influences come their way, who they are at the core will remain unchanged. What a relief!

So instead of seeing myself as "the shaper of small people", I should call myself "the setter of small persons' defaults." This job is of equal significance, but with consequences less grave. The shaper is responsible for inputting all data, thus everything that comes out is a result of what she put in. The setter simply works on the system already in place. The product is already complete, but capable of accepting downgrades or improvements. I give tools, model values to the best of my ability, and leave the rest to the God who created them and placed them in my care.

Some of my defaults are obstacles, others are blessings. Either way I have a choice every day to live out who I was created to be or who my defaults say I am. My children will have the same choice; the same opportunity to improve on the things I've modeled and taught them. I'm an imperfect influence, but they know they're loved and cherished. Everything beyond that is a bonus.

Day 20: Testing, Testing

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

Tests have always been my thing. Multiple choice, fill in the blank, short answer, essay...you name it, I'll ace it because I love answers. A test has a perfectly defined beginning and end, and with the end comes a sense of accomplishment and completion. Just talking about it makes me nostalgic for my college days.

Well, school's over and testing has taken on a whole new meaning. In fact, I don't think it's even fair to call any part of life or parenting a "test" because there is no end and there are certainly no answers. My favorite thing about school has become my least favorite thing about parenting. I'd like to say I've been acing the tests coming my way recently, but I'm not sure what a passing grade looks like.

In the past few days, Jackson has been experiencing tantrums. This is new and so out of character for him that it's really quite traumatic for all of us. It's very clear that they're coming as a result of his body's detox process, but that doesn't make them any easier to deal with in the moment. It's obvious he's feeling out of control, confused and conflicted when it happens, and don't I know none of those feel good. He'll ask me to leave, then scream louder when I move toward the door and beg me to stay. He'll say he wants to be held, then when he gets into my arms, he'll fight his way out, screaming. His body and brain are just saying "no" to everything and all he wants to do is say "yes" and feel calm. If the test is helping him find a way to calm down, I'm failing

This has led us to his first public outbursts. For the first time, I'm the mom with the kid lying on the floor of the store. It feels worse than I imagined. When it happens, the whirlwind of thought going on in my head is dizzying. It's hard to focus and get a grip on myself or him. If the test is avoiding a public scene, I'm failing.

 I'm acutely aware of each person walking by and watching, and I even find myself saying things to him that I'm hoping they hear: "Jackson this isn't appropriate behavior in the store. I want you to be respectful of the other shoppers. Do you see all these people? Your yelling hurts their ears and your body is in the way." If the test is tuning out the world to focus on him and the need he's expressing, I'm failing.

As the stress builds and the desire to avoid external judgment squeezes down on me, I find it harder to be patient. I start to physically remove him, which only makes matters worse because a lack of control over his world is what caused the ruckus to begin with. If the test is helping him feel powerful and in control of himself, I'm failing.

Eventually I'm able to talk him down. Maybe we identify something he wants or wants to do, then draw the connection between leaving the store and getting there. Maybe I identify what he wanted in the first place and can accommodate that need or find a suitable substitute. If the test is stopping the tantrum, I fail because time was up before I could finish filling in the little circles.

But If the test is surviving and even loving him through the storm, I think I'll give myself a passing grade. If it's acknowledging and allowing him to express the extreme unrest and discomfort that are accompanying his body's healing process, I'm pretty sure I'd get the credits. And if it's standing strong against the temptation to use fear, shame, bribery or punishment to manipulate him, I think I am acing it.

I'm teaching him that I really do love him unconditionally. He's seeing first hand that he is secure, that nothing could ever make me abandon him. And, although his little brain might not process it to the full extent, I'm showing him that he matters to me more than the shopping, more than the passersby, more than our schedule, and more than my own feelings. Because let's face it, it's embarrassing. And it would be easy to prioritize that feeling over your child's need for acceptance and support through a tantrum.

I may not like this new kind of test, especially since no one has the answer key, but I'm doing my best to rise to the challenge of living in the answer-less world of parenting. In the end, it'll probably be my kids who get to hand down the grades, and I can only hope that the work I'm doing to build a healthy relationship with them now will pay off when that day comes.

Day 6: Superpowers

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.


This summer as I was running with Jackson in the jogger and my huge pregnant belly hanging out the bottom of my tank top, a stranger smiled at me and said, "Super Mom, eh?" I smiled back and looked down at my little pre-two angel, my miniature best friend who came with me everywhere I went. I pondered our utopian life of sunshine, splashpads, and jogging to farmers markets, libraries and parks, and thought, "Yeah. Maybe I am."

Fast forward to the present and I feel like anything but Super Mom. My house is a disaster. I now find myself at odds with my definitely-two angel far too often. There's not enough of me to adequately meet the needs of my husband and both my children. And I literally want to cry when I think about how far off in the future we will be when I'm finally able to meet my own needs of running, reading and relaxing.

This experience has opened me, made me more understanding, less critical and more compassionate. It's something that will allow me to relate to and support other mothers in a way I never could have before. It's pulled me from my black and white world where clean floors, "perfect" children, and a completed to-do list are necessary to feel happy, to a world where dust doesn't matter, children learn about real life, and the things on the to-do list are unimportant in comparison to the things that can't be tallied. This is a world beyond happiness, a world of contentment.

Do I wish the growing process could be a little less painful? You bet! But the lessons are worth every difficult moment. So I'll still don the cape, but now I'm a different kind of Super Mom. The kind who is able to prioritize relationships over tasks and who is able to see the fellow superhero in every mom.

I will choose acceptance over resistance.
Jackson and I have taken ECFE classes since he was just a few weeks old. It's a place he knows and loves. But today we went to our first class of the new semester in a different room with different friends, different toys, and different teachers. We came a few minutes late (no surprise there), so all the eight other kids, four moms and three teachers were playing and talking. It was loud, busy, a lot for anyone to walk into, but especially my sensitive, peace-loving little boy.

He was excited to be there, excited about all the new people and things, excited about all the activity he was about to be a part of. But he was also overwhelmed. He found favorite toys, one after another, and started hoarding (something tied to the current homeopathic remedy we're using for his eczema, but also a sign that he was overwhelmed). He started yelling, "No. You can't have these toys." as he looked frantically around the room.

Now let me tell you about all the external pressure I was feeling. I was feeling "rude" for not being able to go introduce myself to the other moms and new teachers. I was feeling the expectation was for me to stop him from yelling or force him to put toys down. I was feeling the other adults would make judgments about my child based on this first impression, and by association, judgments about me. I was feeling like I wanted him to show them what a kind and gentle kid he is instead of what he looked like in that moment.

But I ignored all of that. I accepted how he felt and how he was communicating it to me. I acknowledged his feelings, we found a quiet step to sit on, and we talked about being overwhelmed. I stayed close because I know I have to be his calm in the storm when he feels that way in a chaotic environment. And within minutes he was going around the room finding new friends to give his favorite toys to: "Would you prefer to play with this?" "Here, you can have a turn with this." "What's your name?" "Would you like me to make you some toast?" All of a sudden he was thriving in this environment that was initially so challenging for him, and he no longer needed my help.

And wouldn't you know, I still got the chance to talk with all the moms and teachers. Their kids took turns yelling too. And those expectations were probably all in my head to begin with. Glad I'm working on my acceptance superpower!

I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
Max is obsessed with his penis. He's four months old and he literally can't stop grabbing his crotch. Diaper changes: Crotch. Bath time: Crotch. Potty time: Crotch. It wouldn't drive me so nuts, but his hand is always in the way, making these tasks very difficult to accomplish. I was giving him some diaper free time on the floor the other day and walked in the room to find him lying on top of his arm, face on the rug...you guessed it: Crotch.

I love that he's, um, focused? Curious? In tune with his body? Well, I do know that I love that he makes me laugh. I just hope this isn't a prelude to a really awkward stage in adolescence...

I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.
Only six days in and I can log a success! Jackson's carrots ended up in his cup along with his straw at lunch time. You better believe I saw it, but I chose to ignore it and let him continue. We talked about other things, sang a song, and he made some cute comment about the carrots tasting sweeter when he dipped them in the water. He played and ate for a short while, looking up a handful of times to see what my reaction was going to be. Then, because he has to verbalize all observations, he said with a smile, "Mommy didn't notice I put my carrots in my water."

This could have been a power struggle, it could have ended in one or both of us feeling really frustrated. Instead he got to play and we got to interact peacefully and happily. And the world kept spinning, even though carrots don't belong in cups.

The Real About Me

Mothering is a daily adventure into uncharted territory. No one else has ever parented these children in this stage in this mood under these circumstances. Consequently, no one has the answers to any of our daily struggles - trust me, I've looked everywhere. It's like we're all playing a game with an opponent who gets to change the rules at will...without telling anyone.

I don't have the answers for anyone else, much less for myself, but I do know this: We're ALL struggling. And none of us are talking about it.

The Perfect Mom you see at the grocery store with the polite children in matching outfits, her hair styled and nails neatly manicured - she's a figment of your imagination. She has bad days, pajama and bedhead days, temper tantrum days, exhausted and frustrated days, even yelling and shaming days. I guarantee it. How do I know? Because I've been told I'm that mom. BAHahahahaha!!...Oh, sorry. Excuse the outburst. I've been told I look like I have it all together, like there's peace and harmony between me and my children, like I have a sense of calm about me...seriously.

But the truth is I'm just as much like the Real Mom at the grocery store, with the screaming kids knocking items off shelves, sweatpant-clad with food in her hair and fear in her eyes. We all have our good days and our bad days, triumphs and failures.

And in the end no matter how prepared we are, we're all winging it. We pick up tools as we go, learn by trial and error, and just pray everyone comes out on the other side in tact. I'm convinced that if we, as mothers, can start showing our authentic, imperfect selves to each other, we would find that the understanding, support and collective wisdom we gain will bring us that much closer to our own version of Perfect Mom.

So here's my real About Me:

I'm a control freak. When I can't control my circumstances (read: my two year old's behavior) I get angry. When I get angry, I yell. When I yell, I feel guilty. When I feel guilty, I get angry at myself for losing control. The more out of control I feel, the more I try to control my circumstances...and so the ugly cycle continues. It takes every ounce of strength I have to prevent this from being a daily occurrence.

I'm a pessimist, a real-life Debby Downer. I have an uncanny ability to see and assume the worst in every situation. The end of the world happens daily for me. It takes all my energy to choose to see the world, and sometimes even the people I love, in a positive light.

I live in a black and white world. Every question should have an answer, and I want all the answers. I naturally value justice over compassion and understanding. My tendency is to value being "right" over all else. It takes everything in me to see the gray that covers nearly all of life, and to choose cooperation over competition.

Except in my very closest relationships, I'm not good at being real. I assume that opening myself up will bring negative judgment from others (hello again, pessimism, my old friend). I place a very high value on privacy, often at the expense of intimacy and all the growth, joy, and satisfaction that comes with it. Vulnerability is terrifying (especially when you expect to be ridiculed, judged or attacked!) so it's easier to pretend I have it all figured out and put together, no help needed. And, drum roll please...It takes everything I have to just be me - the good, the bad, and the ugly - in front of anyone.

That's a list of my defaults. But I'm also loving, dependable, passionate, intelligent, loyal, a good listener, warm, fun-loving, determined, never satisfied with 'good enough' for myself or the people I love, and never satisfied with living in default mode. Above all else, I'm a mom who loves her children more than life, and who would do literally anything for them...even start a blog reveling her failures and weaknesses in an attempt to find balance and a better life for them!

With this much of myself to overcome in a day to be who I truly believe I am underneath all the baggage that comes with 26 years of life, I don't have the energy to waste on constructing a perfect facade anymore. I'm choosing to free myself of that, and to put that energy into actually *being* all the things I look like I am from the outside. Buckle up...It's going to be a bumpy ride.

A Mission Statement of Sorts

Every day I start with new resolve to parent in a manner worthy of the beautiful little souls God has entrusted to me: with respect, dignity, acceptance, joy, love, grace, forgiveness, security, trust, compassion, authenticity, peace, creativity, enthusiasm...(simple, right? Ha!) And every day I fail. And so it will continue every day, because the goal of being a perfect mother is decidedly out of reach.

You might think an unattainable goal would leave me, and every other mother for that matter, feeling defeated. And some days it does. But there's a secret that the world doesn't tell us, a secret that changes everything: Fulfillment is in the process, not the product.

A successful parent isn't measure by the final product. In fact, we can do it all "right" and still end up falling short if what we're striving for is a toddler who shares, a teenager who doesn't smoke, or straight A's on a report card. Successful parenting is much more fluid and ambiguous than that. It's an intimate, undefinable connection, a relationship that can't be summed up in words. It's a catalog of never-finished, always in-progress immeasurables that can't be checked off a list: Empathy, confidence, respect, self-worth, stability, integrity...these are the things I long for when I dream of the present and future for my children.

Life is messy, and the closer you get to people, the messier it gets. I can't think of a more intimate relationship than that of a mother to a child. You will make mistakes - lots of them. You will do many of the things on your "I'd never" list. You will cause heartache in the very same little beings you are so madly in love with. And you will feel inadequate, probably daily.

But if in the midst of all of that you can remain present - with yourself and with your children - you will reach the unattainable goal. You will be *their* perfect mother, the one who never stops trying to be better for them.

So I'm embarking on this never-ending journey in writing at the dawn of 2011 so that I have a tangible, daily reminder to stay present and focused on the goal of positive parenting. Also so that on the days I need encouragement, I can look back and see how far I've come. So that someday, when my children are regaling me with tales of my shortcomings, I can point them here and say, "I tried my best." And finally, in the hopes that some other mother who may happen upon it will no longer feel alone in her failures and inadequacies, and may even offer herself some much needed grace.