Considerations of a 5 year old

Last night at dinner, a profound thing happened. As a busy mother, these moments of deep reflection appear at the most random of times. When the noise of life quiets down, truths flow with relative ease. In this case, it was my sweet 5 year old Macey who instigated me to reflect heavily on life and parenting.

During a lull in the conversation, my Macey turned to me with a serious expression and said, "You know, Mandy from my class. Her mom is a teacher at my school. She is always there with Mandy every day after school." And then the look in her eyes, so soulful and mature for such a tiny human being. I answered her, "Yes, baby. I know." She looked at me with fortitude. "I mean, every day mom. She's there every day after school." I could see the lines of worry creasing her brow, so I probed her. "Yes. That's wonderful. Why are you telling me this?"

The awkward shift in her tiny body and her serious eyes revealed to me the real question that she was too uncomfortable to verbalize: Mom, why aren't you home every day after school with me?

No matter how much I asked her why she wanted to tell me this, she wouldn't say it. She wouldn't just come out and call into question why our situation isn't the same, a situation that she sometimes longs for. I could see through her the same little girl I once was who felt too guilty to say to my mom, "Why can't I have the same designer jeans that the other girls have? Why can't we go on vacations like my friends? Why can't we afford to send me to sleep away camp?" These were questions that plagued my mind as a child that I never would have said to my mother because I knew the pain she felt from sacrificing financial comfort to stay at home full time with her children. I knew that saying it out loud would have made my mom feel terribly guilty, so I kept those thoughts tightly guarded in my own mind and heart. But I never forgot them.

And that brought to the forefront of my mind the word that every parent lives with on a daily basis: sacrifice. We all have them and we all make them based on what we have decided is best for our families. And, it is not only us that makes these sacrifices but also our children. So mature and so all knowing even as babies.

Maybe it is the fear of poverty that pushes me to work as hard as I do. I will never forget my mom counting dollars at the grocery store every week, trying to stretch an already stretched budget just a little farther. I would never ask for something extra at the store because I knew my mom had to say no and it broke her heart. I'll never forget the look of worry in her eyes every spring when the tuition rates for the upcoming school year came out and how she would silently research alternative cheaper schools in case she just couldn't swing it the next year. I'll never forget how my mom push started her car when it was broken and she couldn't afford to fix us so she could drop us off at school. And, I'll never forget that look she got when a letter from school would come home about some amazing travel experience that was never an option for our family's budget. I bore the brunt of these stresses because I didn't want to make her feel any worse than she already did. The sacrifices my parents made for us were boundless and unconditional, but they were by no means easy to make.

But, the returns were also boundless. My mom never missed a single school event. She attended every single school party, field trip, and sporting event. With three busy children, this was no easy feat, but she made it happen. For every cent she stressed over she had the peace of mind that she would miss nothing in our lives. My dad's sacrifices were just as intense for he worked so much that, at times, he became a stranger in his own house as he spent more time at his office than he did in the home he struggled to pay for. His guilt was the polar opposite: he provided but at the cost of missing out on almost everything, especially in the early years. My parents were masters at balancing and teamwork, things I have learned are crucial for the survival of a family. This was a legacy that was left to me and one that has heavily impacted every decision I make as a parent.

While my daughter may wonder why I am not home with her every day after school, I know at some point she will recognize the valuable gifts she is being granted despite her sacrifices as a child with a working mother. I watch every day the incredible bond that my children have with their father, a father who serves the role of "stay at home mom" on the evenings that I am at my office until 10pm. Over the years as their dad has single-handedly managed cooking dinner, helping with homework, reading books, and getting everyone ready for bed, my son and daughters are seeing that both mom and dad can do everything as long as they work as a team. They are watching their parents balance the demands of raising three children and two full time jobs, something that is challenging and exhausting on a daily basis. I know that the things I miss out on are granting my husband the unique opportunity of experiencing things he never would have experienced if I was always home, and it is granting my children the opportunity to nurture strong, intimate, independent relationships with both of their parents.

I may not be able to shelter my children from the strains of life, but I can teach them that they have the power to make their own choices, to pick their battles. It may not be easy, but every sacrifice leads to an incredible gift that very possibly could have otherwise gone undiscovered.

After the girls went to bed, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I stopped doing everything that needed to be done, and I went and laid in bed with them. After I climbed into bed with my sweet Macey Rae and snuggled with her until she feel asleep, I knew that even though I can't be there every day after school everything will be alright.

That crazy little thing called parenthood

I admit it right now with my tail between my legs: I have been a terrible blogger this past year. I can list a bevy of excuses (I am running a business, I am mothering three children, I am being a wife, I am keeping my household in order), but the truth is I just haven't slowed myself down enough to write. I don't write for other people, I write for myself. Writing has always been a cathartic process for me, a way to pinpoint emotions that swirl like fog through my brain. Most of the times when I sit down to write (OK, EVERY time), it is because there is something cursing through my brain and heart that I just can't pinpoint. Something about writing opens up the floodgates to my soul and, before I know it, I am once again completely in sync with myself. Someone once asked me, "If you only write for yourself than why share it with others?" That's a good question. For me my writing is a means of sharing with those around me. I am not the only working mother in the world. I am not the only wife in the world. I am not the only business owner in the world. I am not the only person grappling with the myriad of questions and thoughts that bombard every day life. Maybe someone will read one of my pieces and feel not alone in this vast universe. And if none of that happens, well, that is perfectly fine with me too.

I am a good mother. I say this not to imply that I am the BEST or the ONLY or the EXCEPTION. I say this not to brag. I say this because it is the truth. I am a good mother because I am a work in progress. Because I am not perfect. Because just like everything else in my life, motherhood is a journey that I weather one step at a time, something that I take the time to constantly reevaluate. When I think of what a "good parent" is to me, I do not envision the scene of euphoric movie bliss where everyone says please and thank-you at all the right moments, where the house is always show ready with freshly cut flowers and a homemade pie cooling on the windowsill, where everyone is perfect and happy at every second of every day. Instead, I envision "good parents" surrounded by a sea of chaos but instead of letting this chaos suffocate them, they are working together with those around them and their children to make a stable life. They are working to instill the lessons that are most important to them, and they are working to always become better versions of themselves. Sometimes, just sometimes, this "good parent" who is writing this post puts a movie in the DVD player because she just needs 10 MINUTES of peace and quiet to shave her legs uninterrupted. This "good parent" sometimes says no to art projects because she just doesn't want to clean up paint and glitter from every surface of her house. And, this "good parent" often hides play-doh because she hates the way it smells and the hardened pieces it leaves in every crack and crevasse. I never said I was without flaws. In fact, I have many of them.

I am proud of the mother I am and the parents that Mark and I are. We work every day to give our kids the things that matter most to us: unconditional love and acceptance. Does this mean we don't punish them when they are wrong? No. Does this mean we don't point out to them mistakes they make? No. In order to grow you have to learn, and in order to learn you have to make mistakes. I'm sorry but that is just the harsh reality of life. I don't expect my kids to be perfect just like I don't expect myself to be. What I do expect is for them (and me) to evaluate those mistakes openly and without reserve. If I make a mistake and ignore it, what good does that do? I have heard parents say that they will never back down on something they have said. Never? Well, that seems awfully strict to me. I have apologized to all of my kids before, "Mommy is sorry that she didn't stop and listen better." "Mommy is sorry that she lost her temper and didn't calm down first." "Mommy is sorry that she forgot to send in your permission slip." I take accountability for the person I am, flaws and all, and I want nothing more than for my kids to do the same. Own it, fix it, learn from it. That is my motto.

Maybe it is wrong to say that I feel like my life is perfect, but I do. That doesn't mean that EVERY facet of my life is perfect. That's just insane. What that means is that the things that really matter are exactly how they should be. I am exactly how I should be in this moment. My husband is exactly how he should be in this moment. My marriage is exactly how it should be in this moment. My kids are exactly how they should be at this moment. This moment, well it is just a blip in our journey together through life. My life is perfect because I work hard to achieve what matters to me and, all the while, I keep a realistic view that perfect doesn't mean flawless it just means right.

I haven't always felt that my life is perfect. But, when something feels "off", I evaluate how to fix it. And most importantly, any time something has felt "off" I have not ignored it. I have not refused to see my own contribution to this "off-ness." Instead, I have grabbed that feeling as much as it hurts, I have pushed that bruise, to find the source. The only advice I can give to people who lack contentment is to figure out what you need to be content, and the first place you need to look is within. When I stopped trying to be flawless and embraced myself, contentment sailed into my life with relative ease.

At the end of the day, the shininess of my floors or the crispness of my shirt don't matter to me. I am perfectly perfect with dust balls lurking in my corners and a smear of syrup from the kids' waffles on the bottom of my shirt. That is my reality. That is my perfect. Take it or leave it.

I owe a lot of this perspective to being a mother because no matter what, I just can't control everything, and my kids have reminded me how to enjoy the beauty of living. They have reminded me to slow down. They have reminded me how much fun it can be to sit around and play with toys. They have reminded me that no problem is too small to not be taken seriously and no achievement it too small to not celebrate wildly. They have reminded me that being together and laughing is really all that matters. And, they have reminded me that, no matter what life throws at us, we will always be OK because we have each other.