Finding rose colored glasses

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“Mommy, I don’t like that sign.”

“What sign?” I asked my daughter as we drove to daycare, still wiping sleep from our eyes.

“That one.” She said as she lifted her arm and pointed to the corner.

I followed her gaze out the window to the intersection where we were waiting for the red light to change. Sure enough, there was a man standing on the corner holding a politically charged sign. I took this as an opportunity to explain to my daughter why free speech is important, and why we are so lucky to have the freedom to express our own opinions.

Then I told her, “I don’t like that sign either because I don’t agree with what that man is saying.”

She paused and thought for a minute (while I quietly celebrated my successful explanation of free speech). Then she responded, “Well, I don’t like it because it’s not purple.”

reading with girlsMaybe my lesson about free speech didn’t sink in as much as I’d hoped or thought, but it did show me an important lesson in seeing the world through the innocent, ignorant, and hopeful eyes of a toddler. My daughters live in a sleepy neighborhood in a suburb of a big city, where their biggest fear is Swiper from Dora stealing their toys. They don’t read the news of a school shooting every week. They don’t fear for their safety or want for their basic needs. Seeing the world through my kids’ eyes is an opportunity to see the world through the rosiest of colored glasses, and to reset and recalibrate my own viewpoint and attitude from time to time.

Too often I hear myself telling my kids “don’t do this,” or “please do that,” and using the one phrase I never thought I’d say – “because I said so.” Each time these phrases cross my lips, I have to remind myself that barking orders and explaining my requests to a toddler is just as confusing to them as their babble is to me. We are all trying to communicate with each other, but how much are we really hearing?

As I sat in my daughter’s bedroom a few days ago, carrying a conversation with her about her request for a painting princess birthday party and looking her squarely in the eyes, I saw a glimpse into her world where her newfound love of princesses drives most of her imagination, and her love for painting couples perfectly with that. It extends farther than this, though. Each night at dinner I listen to her tell me about the games she played with her friends on the playground, and starting around 7:30pm, I try to follow her train of thought as she mercilessly avoids bedtime. In these moments, I see what she is seeing. A world full of wonder and possibility. Of monsters under the bed and fairy princesses just a stone’s throw away. A world that is simultaneously a protected bubble and chaotically large.

Bedtime a few nights ago was the perfect example. My little one was “reading” to her teddy bear in her bed, periodically calling “mama,” just to make sure I was still nearby. Meanwhile, as I finished story time with my older one, she asked me, “Mommy? Are there any monsters?”

“No honey. There are no monsters. They all went home and went to bed.” (Read: you should go to bed, too.)

“But, did you throw them in the trash?”

“Sure honey. I threw them in the trash. Now go to sleep.”

Five minutes later, she called me back into her room and told me that she was feeling scared of monsters. And I, in my infinite parenting wisdom (read: desperation) explained to her that I’ve hired “Joe, the room protector” to watch over her room when I’m sleeping so that no monsters bother her while we’re playing in our dreams. (Think I’ll be paying for that in her therapy bills later?) She seemed to accept this explanation and rolled over to attempt sleep once again.

Five minutes later, I heard her calling me again. “Mommy, were you just pretending about that guy Joe?” My first thought was “she’s on to me,” but as I tried to see the world from her perspective, I realized that I had an opportunity to simultaneously teach her about using our imaginations while being honest with her. As I spent the next ten minutes explaining all the different ways we use our imagination and why sleep is so important, she looked up at me with sleepy eyes and finally said “Okay mommy. But is Joe on a break?”

“Yes honey. Joe is on a break.”

Too often, I get caught up in the moment of where we need to be, or get sucked into snooping on my Facebook friends to really see what my kids are seeing. But, when I stop and live within the context of their world and try to see the world the way that they do, the world becomes a much smaller, much happier and more peaceful place. And I think we could all use a little of that smaller, happier, more peaceful place once in a while.

Finding Re-June-venation

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drink more water

This card sits above my desk at work and is a daily reminder of one of my re-June-venation goals.

Okay, there, I’ve done it. I’ve made my first play on words on Finding Mom(me)…okay, second. The credit for that should really go to my Dad and his lifelong love of puns and word plays. Alas, now that I’ve done it, and you’ve understandably groaned at the cheesiness of the title, I may as well keep going.

June snuck up on me quickly this year. I work for a seasonal organization where summer contains the busiest months so it’s not like June was a big surprise. In fact, I’ve spent eight months working toward the next four, so really, the jump from May to June should have been the most predictable part of my weekend. But, as is true of most days, time slipped away from me and went by way too fast. I wouldn’t really believe May even happened except that it’s my husband’s birth month. No, not the month that contains his birthday. It’s an entire month.

At any rate, if New Year’s is the time to set resolutions that none of us will really keep, and Spring is the time to do some cleaning that none of us really do, I’m calling June my month of truth and rejuvenation. It’s my month to be honest with myself (and thanks to this blog, honest with all of you). And it’s my month to set some goals for small victories (as I noted in a previous post) to refresh and recalibrate as I head into my busiest season of work. So, here are some of my truths and goals for small victories, in no particular order:

  • I don’t floss except for the week before I go to the dentist, unless I have something really jammed in there. (Maybe I’ll do that more.)
  • I don’t like to exercise unless there’s really good pop music, dance moves, and other people. (See below.)
  • Flashmobs are my favorite form of spontaneous happiness. (See above.)
  • I believe in the power of ice cream and its healing properties. (So I’ll keep eating it.)
  • Some days, I drink more coffee than water. (I’m going to flip that around.)
  • I have the same taste in music as most 16 year-old girls. Ask my husband, it’s true. (Not much we can do about this one…)
  • Sleep is important, and the TV shows I watch until late at night are not. (Time to prioritize the former, rather than the latter.)
  • Parenting is hard and I make mistakes daily. (I’m going to embrace them more.)
  • Parenting is hard and I have successes daily. (I’m going to embrace them more.)

How will you find your re-June-venation?

Finding the freedom to slow down

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Have you ever seen that scene from Family Guy where little Stewie says to his mom, “Mom. Mom. Mommy. Mom. Mommy. Mommy. Mom. Mama. Mama. Mama. Ma. Ma. Ma….”? When his mom finally acknowledges him, he replies “Hi,” then giggles, and runs out of the room.

Before becoming a mom, I thought this was an exaggerated comedic rendition of young children’s speech patterns and quests for attention. Now I know that it’s not an exaggeration. It’s actually eerily accurate. And, the comedic punch of it loses some power after the same “mommy” cycle happens multiple times a day.

“Mom. Mom. Mommy. Mom. Mommy. Mommy. Mom. Mama. Mama. Mama. Ma. Ma. Ma,” my three year old chirps happily. Sometimes I can take the stammering of the same word over and over and over and over and over again (sometimes it’s not “mommy.” Sometimes it’s “um” or “hey mommy” or “I just,” to name a few). Other times I want to respond to her the same way the mom on Family Guy does – with an exasperated “WHAT?!”

But before I turn into the cartoon version of myself, I hold my breath and remember that my little one is learning to communicate and that the story she wants to tell me about the dream she had where a dinosaur came into her room and read her the Three Little Bears book that she refuses to let me read to her is the most exciting story she’ll tell all day. Her brain is working so quickly that she just. can’t. get. it. out. So, instead she goes into overload and just repeats the same word or phrase a few times before finishing her thought.

beach ballThis exercise in patience – in holding my breath and catching my words before finishing her sentences for her or getting frustrated – has been a good practice in more than just the recounting of our days. It is also effective in the inevitable moment (moments) throughout a given day or weekend when we are running late and I have to tell my kids to “Hurry up!” On plenty of occasions when I tell my kids that we are running late, the older one responds, “I very don’t like being late,” though she doesn’t entirely grasp the concept. Even still, it breaks my heart every time she says it. She has no control of her schedule, and yet has already developed an understanding that she doesn’t want to deviate from it. Yes, there are times that they need to be reminded to keep moving, and teaching punctuality is important. But in a world driven by being fast, where information is literally at our fingertips and day planners (or Google calendars) are full of appointments, meetings and places to be, sometimes keeping moving and punctuality are not always the priority.

The juxtaposition of me looking at the clock while my kids look at the shapes in the clouds is a good reminder that kids have no concept of time. Like, none. (This becomes unbelievably evident every Saturday when we’ve been awake since 6:30am but still can’t seem to get to the 9am swim lesson on time!) So, in those moments I have to make a choice between the hands on a clock or the moments at hand.

It’s in those moments that I try to remember to slow down and take it all in. It’s in those moments that I remember to enjoy the morning cuddles while watching Elmo for five more minutes before jumping out of bed and starting our regular routines. And in the moments when I allow my daughter’s imagination to steer us, literally and figuratively. And in the moments when we’re already late and another two minutes to watch the snail cross the sidewalk isn’t hurting anybody (unless someone steps in the wrong place, and then it’s hurting the snail!)basketball

Time goes by so quickly. I don’t want to rush my children growing up, and I don’t want them to feel like they had to “hurry up” just to get from point A to point B, when there’s a lot to see in between. Sometimes, I just want to feel the freedom to slow down and enjoy the moment.

How do you remember to slow down? What are the moments you enjoy most?

Finding triumphs in small victories

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big smileMy older daughter is in an ultra competitive stage. She wants to be “first” at everything. First to brush her teeth, first to put her pajamas on, first to arrive anywhere (though, ironically, never first to eat her vegetables). For her, these “firsts” are her version of small victories and she celebrates each with zealous innocence.

I, too, have started celebrating small victories… maybe with less zealousness, and certainly with less innocence, but small victories all the same. This process of benchmarking steps of the journey came to light just before my first baby was born. A friend whose daughter is one year older than mine told me that while on maternity leave she set small goals for herself… take a shower, throw in a load of laundry, take a nap. On a normal day, or under normal circumstances, these goals would be mundane. But, as any new mom can attest, each of these tasks can be an insurmountable obstacle in delirious sleep-deprived days. Rather than seeing the entire day and all its ups and downs as a cumulative series of triumphs and tribulations, I chose then, and still choose now, to celebrate the small victories in life.

As I delve deeper into the blogging world, readers continue to ask me how I find the time to write my posts. As a wife, mom of two kids under four and full-time employee of a non-profit organization that is an hour commute each way, it’s no easy feat. But, I see my blog as an opportunity to set goals for myself. It began with the goal of starting a blog. (Check!) Then it was writing my first three posts. (Check!) Then getting 100 likes on the Finding Mom(me) Facebook Page. (Check! And thanks!) That same friend who told me about her goal-ridden maternity leave was so shocked that I had found the time to blog that she said she’d pay me $100 if I got to ten posts (this is post #11. So, check! And, B, pay up… just kidding!)

My biggest inspiration in celebrating small victories is a childhood friend whose husband experienced an unthinkable and inexplicable act of violence almost two years ago. Since that day, Abby and her husband T.C. have fought an uphill battle in every realm of life as they’ve experienced the effects of traumatic brain injury, including countless medical procedures, intensive speech therapies, and the heart-wrenching responsibilities of rebuilding the relationships in their family, not just between one another but also with their now three year-old son. As Abby documented their journey in a blog, first as a way to update friends and family about T.C.’s medical progress, then as a way for Abby to express her emotions, thoughts and experiences, and now as a resource for other families going through similar ordeals, I’ve seen her celebrate the seemingly smallest of victories as the biggest accomplishments, and rightfully so. In those first hours, days, and weeks, those moments of victory were proof of survival. As they’ve progressed, they’ve become proof of forward momentum. Abby’s ability to celebrate small victories kept her going in the darkest days, and she now shines a brilliant light of inspiration.

Not crying over spilled milk...

Not crying over spilled milk…

As I listen to my older daughter snore, and my younger one cough from the remnants of the toddler cooties she has been battling all week, I’m celebrating the triumphs that got me through today, and putting the tribulations of the day behind me. Parenthood is a series of small victories – an effective bedtime routine, an accomplished family outing, a successful negotiation with a toddler. Rather than sweating the small stuff, I celebrate it. A single day could be made up of multiple victories. Even with a few missteps, most days I net positive. And that’s pretty good.

Finding the perfect Mother’s Day card

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happy-mothers-dayI’ve walked into Walgreens three times over the last ten days to pick out a Mother’s Day card for my mom, my mother-in-law, my sister-in-law, and my multitude of friends who are celebrating their first Mother’s Day this year. And each time, I’ve walked out empty handed. Maybe it’s the overwhelming sea of red and pink envelopes, or the overcrowding of the other shoppers also seeking the perfect card reaching over and around each other to grab the next card (manners seem to go out the window when looking for a Mother’s Day card). Whatever it is, they haven’t been right.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve read plenty of cards. I’ve read overly sappy cards. Poignant cards. Simple cards. Cards with so much text that I get bored half way through. Funny cards. Cards attempting to be funny. Blank cards (okay, I didn’t “read” those, smarty pants). And just for good measure, cards written in other languages. But still, none have been right.

mom with girls

Me and my mom with the girls, celebrating her birthday last month

Mother’s Day has become an overly commercialized attempt to show appreciation on a singular day to individuals who deserve appreciation daily. Don’t get me wrong, I love getting to sleep in and brunch is my favorite meal, but why do we need a single day to buy cards for $3.99 with messages we can (and should) be saying more frequently than once a year. No card fits the bill because motherhood is all those things rolled into one: sappy, poignant, simple, exhausting, funny, almost funny, wordless, and indecipherable.

As I’ve thought more about this, I’ve realized that mother’s day is an opportunity to celebrate the wonderful attributes that make up moms and motherhood overall. It’s an opportunity to reflect on where we’ve been and where we’re going. Who we are and who we want to be. Who teaches us and who inspires us.

My best teachers and greatest inspirations for being a mom are the moms around me – moms at the park and at the farmer’s market, my mama friends who comprise my “village,” my aunts, my sister-in-law, and my mother-in-law. We all have so much to teach, and all have plenty of room to learn. We are stronger together than alone, and on this day of “motherly celebration,” I hope that we can all celebrate the ties that bind us.

mom and me with oranges

Me with my mom, circa 1984

More than anything though, my inspiration in being the mother I’ve become is my own mom. I remember when I was a kid, my mom was so afraid of becoming her own mom (which, for the record, she has in many ways). And, even as a kid, all I’ve ever wanted to become was mine. Whether chasing rainbows in a rainstorm, or putting on elaborate birthday parties, or developing a beautiful relationship with her granddaughters, my mom has always been my biggest inspiration. She even inspired me to start this blog. So rather than sending her a card that is sappy, poignant, simple, boring, funny, almost funny, blank, or written in another language, I thought I’d feature her as my first blog post about inspiration. When I asked her to tell me about herself, how she finds the “me” in mommy, and what advice she has for other moms, here’s what she had to say:

I am a wife, Mom and Nana as well as an artist and life long learner. I love to travel, and have visited at least 22 countries. Reading is something that I truly enjoy, and since I have retired I have reacquainted myself with my sewing machine. I am physically active, I either swim, do yoga or Pilates daily. Since we sold our home and moved into a condo, I walk everywhere and love exploring an area I have lived in for 40 years.

As a young Mom, it was hard to find the “me” in Mommy. Many of my friends at the time were either single, or coupled without children. Finding the balance was hard. Having a loving husband/partner certainly made a huge difference. Over time I learned that I needed physical exercise to get the “me” time. I became a runner, and after seeing A Chorus Line I even took ballet. Ok, running was the better choice, and I stayed with it.

Lately I realized that I am “channeling” my own Mom. It has been said, my mother- myself; so Mom’s of daughters – think as or before you do. Children grow up so fast, enjoy it- finding the time for you may not come until much later. Grab what little time you can, but still make sure that you chase the rainbows or get those tickets for your child’s special events. Learn to chill, and remember it is a journey, the destination comes later in life when there is truly time for you and those amazing grandchildren who make it all worthwhile.

To all you mamas out there, Happy Mother’s Day. Here’s to finding a little “me” in mommy today, and every day.

PS: Mom, if you don’t like this post, sorry! I’ll send you a card next year.

Finding faith in flaws

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sisterly loveSometimes I feel like parenting is one big social science experiment, where my kids are the control (or have the control!) and I am the subject being tested. True that even as the control, they are ever changing and ever testing me, but the bigger test is about how I respond to them and their changing wants, needs, and emotions. Most of the time, I’m figuring it out as I go. Parenting is the longest exercise in trial and error that I’ve ever known, where every morning provides a fresh slate to try to do just a little better than the last. Though there are literally hundreds of parenting books out there, there is no real definitive book on how to be a great parent. (That would be too easy!)

Last week, while picking my kids up from their daycare at the end of a long day (and long week), I was trying to herd both of them out the door (while they tried to come up with any excuse to stay just a few more minutes to look at the books, look at the classroom pet turtle, look at the carpet…like I said, anything to stay!). As I carried the 18 month old, plus two “nap bags” of blankets, sheets, lovies, and art projects from the week, I opened the door for the 3 year old to step out onto the patio. However, I must not have opened the door wide enough because as she walked out she hit her forehead squarely into the doorknob and burst into tears.

With two hands full and a toddler hysterically crying, I sat down on the front step, dropped the two overfilled nap bags and put down the baby to give her older sister a little TLC. As I got down on their level, the baby saw the cup of crackers her sister was holding and reached for one, only to be met with resistance from her crying sibling. This sent the younger one into tears too. As I sat on the step of the now closed daycare, alone, exhausted and mildly aware of the milk, raw chicken and other groceries sitting in the trunk of the car, I looked into the two faces of my babies, who were looking back at me with mouths wide open, heads tipped back, tears streaming down their faces. In a moment of total helplessness, and with very real awareness of their dependence on me, I let out a little chuckle at the ridiculousness of the scene before giving them a dual hug and looking around for where the social scientist was hiding, waiting to analyze my every move.

snugglesOf course, the social scientist never appeared (that would be creepy though, wouldn’t it?!) but it got me to thinking about our quest to be perfect parents. What does it mean to be perfect, anyway? A friend of mine who is expecting her second child called me the other day after an anxiety dream about being a mama to two little ones. She said to me, “How can I possibly have two kids? I’m not even a perfect parent to one, what am I going to do with two?!”

Perfection is a fallacy when it comes to parenting. Even with the best of intentions, perfection doesn’t exist. That’s what makes parenting so raw and so real. We all make mistakes – it’s what we do about those mistakes that matter. Before having kids, the standard to which I held myself was higher than was really attainable. But now, with dried graham cracker drool on my shoulder and the theme song to Bubble Guppies running on repeat through my mind, those standards have changed. It’s no longer about being perfect. It’s about being the best mom I can be, even when that means accepting (momentary) defeat and celebrating (miniscule) successes.

Finding time to smell the roses

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rose

A rose is still a rose

When I was five years old, my parents and I went to the beach for a weekend of fun in the sun. We built sand castles, splashed in the waves and went for long walks in search of the perfect seashell. As we headed back toward our umbrella and blanket after one particular walk, I ran ahead of my parents – wind in my hair, sand between my toes and bathing suit riding up just enough to bear a striking resemblance to the Coppertone baby. My mom yelled after me to stop and head back in their direction. As I approached the spot where my mom was standing, she pointed down at a beautiful pink seashell and said to me “if you’re always running ahead, you won’t have time to see what you’re missing.”

Amen, mama. You speak the truth. That moment is frozen (cue the chorus to “Do You Want to Build a Snowman” here – you’re welcome) in time for me and her words often echo through my mind (as do other words she’s told me, but these are the ones that stand out). As I run through daily life – from the mad dash out the door each morning, to the nightly question of “what’s for dinner,” to the inevitable bedtime battle, I try to remember what my mom (in her infinite wisdom) said to me that day. “If you’re always running ahead, you won’t have time to see what you’re missing.” In other words, stop and smell the roses.

eden snail

Stopping to smell the… snail?

Parenthood is a blur. People tell me all the time that “it goes too fast,” and “enjoy it now because they’ll grow up in an instant.” I used to think these were just a bunch of clichés old ladies said in the grocery store to make conversation, but now I realize that they’re right. Sure, my kids are still little and I have years of dashing out the door in the morning and struggling to come up with a nutritious dinner plan that my kids will actually eat (without me having to concoct some elaborate story about how broccoli comes from an enchanted forest and why grilled chicken is magical). But the truth is, if my kids grow up as quickly as the last three years have gone, it’ll be their Bat Mitzvahs, high school graduations and weddings before I know it (cue the sounds of a cash register here).

If we’re always running ahead, we won’t have time to see what we’re missing. We won’t have time to see our babies develop a new sense of self (and the world) that comes with learning to walk. We’ll miss our young children taking risks and developing confidence each time they pick themselves up after falling down. We won’t cherish the early (even the early, early) morning snuggles that come after a nightmare or the giggles that come from an impromptu family dance party in the living room before bed.

flower children

My flower children

Life might be short, but the days are long and the opportunities to appreciate the little moments are great. Each day I try to remind myself of this, and try to relish in the memories that are being formed in a seemingly simple moment. These are the moments that matter, and these are the moments I don’t want to miss because I was running too quickly to appreciate them.

Finding patience

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I always thought I was a patient person. Then I had kids, and my patience was tested…daily. Patience with myself. With my husband. With my kids. With the world. Patience has taken on an entirely new definition over the past three years, and with each moment that pushes my patience to the breaking point, I strive to remember that “this too shall pass.”

cupcake

Chocolate is her favorite food group.

My older daughter is a smart, opinionated three year-old (well, actually three and a half – she’ll be the first to tell you that). Dinnertime with her goes from “more please” to “I don’t like that!” The pendulum can swing within a single meal… multiple times. My philosophy with meals, particularly dinner, is to create a balance of food she’ll like with new flavors, while hiding nutritious items in hopes that she’ll eat some semblance of a healthy meal. It’s much harder than I could possibly have imagined. (Just for reference, her younger sister would eat the plate if I’d let her.)

Tonight was the prime example of how quickly this pendulum can swing, and how intensely my patience can be tested. Before leaving for work, I set the crockpot to make a delicious (and surprisingly easy) Hawaiian chicken dish I’d seen on Pinterest. When I got home from work I roasted some broccoli and garlic, made quinoa, and (because I had a feeling that wouldn’t go over well) used some leftover rice and veggies to make a quick fried rice for the kids. As predicted, the little one loved the entire meal. And her big sister… well, not so much.

After a negotiation with my three year old about what she had to eat to be allowed to leave the table, we settled on a measly five bites of the fried rice (plus her fruit on the side). I gave her a solid combination of positive encouragement and tough love, and in the course of five bites (and 30 minutes), she gave me the following litany of excuses:

My finger hurts.
I need a bandaid.
I want to give you a hug.
I need more milk.
I need a minute.
I want to give my sister a hug.
I need you to be patient with me.
Can I just have a banana?
I don’t really feel like eating right now.
I’d rather eat later.
I thought you said three bites.
I want another hug.
I need more milk.
I need a tissue.
I need to pee.
My eye hurts.
My other eye hurts.
Can I put a bandaid on my eye?

When she (finally) finished her five bites and I took a few deep breaths (while thinking “She did it! I did it!”) and gave her another healthy dose of positive reinforcement, I took a step back to reflect on the less than awesome mealtime we’d just had.

The reality is that “this too shall pass.” One day it will be me begging her to take five bites with us before running off to meet her friends. And while yes, if it’s not this, it will be something else, I’m realizing how important it is to dig deep to find my patience so that I truly can enjoy every minute of this wild ride (and tolerate those that drive me too nuts to enjoy!).

How do you find your patience?

 

Finding affirmation of a mother’s instinct

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Day after day, I read article after article about how to be a good mom, how to raise ______ children (that’s a fill in the blank because it could be happy, resilient, well adjusted, vegetable eating… just to name a few), how to parent with confidence or with intention or with patience or with any number of other things, all without royally screwing up my kids. I own a shelf full of parenting books about sleep, discipline, nutrition, and so on. My husband and I discuss, analyze and sometimes agonize over the choices we’re making, the actions we’re taking, and the ins and outs of our kids’ choices and actions. I talk with friends about the battles we are (or aren’t) picking with our kids. I’m on multiple listserves for moms – from finding great deals on Zulily to area mothers’ group functions. I read the Huffington Post Parents Facebook feed religiously. I attend lectures about hot parenting topics. At one time I thought this might all be a bit obsessive. And while all of this is truly informative, it’s even more exhausting! But the harsh reality is that this is parenting today.

Great Job gold starWe’ve all heard about, talked about, even joked about helicopter parents. Have we ever stopped, though, to ask why this generation of parents is hovering so closely to their kids? The truth is that helicopter parenting is a result of helicopter media telling us how to parent, why to parent, when to parent, what to parent. There’s a study and an answer for everything. Access to information has never been so easy. And, there’s plenty of mommy bloggers (myself included!) spouting their own opinions about everything from…well…everything.

But at the heart of it all – the literature, the studies, the scientific findings, the opinions and the judgments – isn’t there still a mother’s instinct? Where has trust in our own instincts gone? We have so diluted this instinct that we are now dependent on others to tell us what’s right. Sure, there’s always learning to be done. And yes, we should absolutely share with one another – it definitely does take a village. But where are the affirmations that we’re doing just fine? The confirmations that our instincts hold some weight? The declarations to moms everywhere of a job well done?

If I could write a letter for moms everywhere to see, it would go something like this:

Dear mothers everywhere,

You’re doing great. Yes, the sleepless nights (whether from a crying baby or newly driving teenager out past curfew) are rough. Yes, you haven’t slept in weeks/months/years. Yes, your patience is tested daily and your perseverance hourly. And yes, life is different than you imagined it would be. But the biggest yes, the biggest affirmation of all, is this: you are a great mom. You are doing a great job.

The dishes piled in the sink from dinner last night or the baskets of laundry yet to be folded acting as your family’s communal dresser are more affirmation of a job well done. You are busy. You are tired. You are juggling a million balls in the air, and you’re doing it well. At the end of the day, a parent’s job is never done, and to this you are no exception. Because whether you tackle the dishes or the laundry, or you take a break, you are doing a great job.

Raising children is no easy feat. From cooing/crying babies to terrific/terrible toddlers to children going on teens to teens going on thirty, you’re doing great. So next time you want to pull your hair out, or you question your abilities, your instincts, or your knowledge of whatever is making your three year old (or thirteen year old) throw a tantrum, remember this: The days are long, but the years are short and moments (and frustrations) are fleeting. Trust yourself. Believe in yourself. Enjoy every moment you can (and those that you can’t will be over before you know it). You’ve got this and you’re doing great.

Okay, I’ll get off my soapbox now.

Finding the strength to let “it” go

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Let it go. LET IT GO. These three simple words have swept Disneynation off its feet and given Adele Dazeem (yep, still funny) the best publicity of her career. For those without kids (or without movie watching kids, or living under a rock) “Let It Go” is one of the signature songs from the hit movie Frozen. But it’s also a good mantra for motherhood.

Babe with her favorite new Frozen dolls

Babe with her favorite new Frozen dolls

Before having kids, I was a great mom. Like, really great. That’s not to say I don’t try to achieve greatness (most days) now with two little ones. But, I’m a different mom now than I was then. Back then, I believed my kids would never order off a kids menu (ha!), they wouldn’t subsist for weeks at a time (despite my best efforts) on chicken nuggets and grilled cheese sandwiches (haha!), and that they wouldn’t watch TV as a distraction so I could get things done or take a fiver (ha… you see where this is going). But, that was then and this is now. And I have to let it go.

The truth is, I had those beliefs without living the reality. When belief and reality collided, my parenting philosophies got flipped upside down. Though I’ve tried to maintain the expectations my husband and I set for our selves and our future children all those years ago, I’ve also had to find the space to forgive myself when those, and plenty of other beliefs, got thrown out the window. Last week when our oldest daughter was home sick all week and we were watching Annie multiple times a day for 5 days, we had to let it go. When she asked for grilled cheese for dinner AGAIN tonight, we had to let it go. And this week, while I’m sick with a virus, pink eye and an ear infection (a mommy trifecta), my husband is doing the best he can to keep his head above water while I lay in bed wishing I could help, and I have to let it go.

Motherhood feels like a daily exercise in letting “it” go. The “it” changes depending on the circumstance but the message remains. It’s a good reminder that when that “perfect” Pinterest project goes horribly wrong… Let it go. Or when the well-planned afternoon outing gets stalled at the front door… Let it go. Or when whatever expectation we’ve constructed for ourselves, or let others construct for us, does a 180… Let it go. After all, at the end of the day raising kids isn’t about the “it.” Rather, it’s about laying a foundation of values, encompassed by love with a safety net close enough to provide comfort but wide enough to allow imaginations to soar. It’s about creating memories wherein the details may eventually become hazy but the emotions remain. It’s about letting “it” go and being all the better for it.

What’s an example of how you’ve let “it” go?

PS: You’re welcome for getting the song (back) in your head.