These reminders have comforted me in moments when I am picking up broken pieces of my dignity from the floor. My kids get the best of me, but they also get the worst.
Sometimes a good thing is not always a good thing when it keeps us from the better things.
We have come to expect certain things of mothers, and when we find ourselves chafing against the confines of a mold that doesn’t quite fit we begin to question who we really are.
I’m not willing to nod my head in agreement to the adage “everything in moderation” as I hand over the iPad with a wink and a nod, a silent acknowledgement that we all know how this works.
How often in our lives do we spend needless energy berating ourselves for the feelings we have rather than accepting and moving through them, recognizing them as instructive and even necessary?
To offer ourselves in friendship, to parent with honesty about the things we don’t know or aren’t sure of, to admit when we are in need—these are treasures bestowed in relationships.
I didn’t know how much it would mean to me that my kids know where I come from, even as I build something new with them that looks different than what was built for and around and by me in my youth.
I have no illusions of providing my kids with a 1970s summer; I simply don’t think rest has to be a thing of the past. I want my kids to have a 2016 summer full of quiet mornings, non-agendas, and room to stretch out on the grass with a book.
As I live in this moment of not having what I hope for, the example I provide for my kids matters far more than my delayed gratification. What legacy am I leaving when it comes to desires unmet?
Our kids are not looking for logical explanations and concrete answers, they are looking for a way not to be afraid.