Skip to main content

Exposure

I've debated with myself all day about whether or not I should delete the last post, about whether it was too personal. Last night after I had typed it and proofed it, I faltered on the publish button.

I want everyone to believe that my kids are the most amazing, talented, smart, perfect, well behaved children ever to walk the face of the earth. Even though they can be the most sassy, disobedient, wound up little monsters, they are still my monsters. They are amazing, talented, perfect, well behaved little monsters.

They are amazing little shining stars that twinkle as bright as noon day sun.

But it's just not easy all the time.

Sometimes it is so wonderfully easy to be the mommy. Perfect little moments string together and form into days and weeks and months. I don't have to think so hard, to work so hard, to be so much, to never give enough. Sometimes Joshua will hug me and I feel so swelled up with love and adoration that I might burst. Sometimes Carly snuggles her face against my neck and I feel like our hearts are beating in time together. It makes me smile, laugh, let go a little bit. Sometimes my life does look like those perfect blogs I visit.

If motherhood was made up only of those rosy moments it would be so very easy.

But it's just not that easy all the time.

I was so tense last night when I went to bed that I had to actually talk myself into relaxing. Unclench my jaw, breath deeply, relax my shoulders, unwind. I had to take it step by step.

Today was better.

I decided that I shouldn't delete that last post because maybe just 1 person will read it and think "Hey, that's me too! I'm not the world's worst mother!"

Even though my readership is small, maybe someone will trip across the blog and think for a second that - you know what? It's ok that my kids aren't perfect! It's ok that I tried really hard and fell short of the mark. It's ok that my son didn't get a perfect grade on his test. I still love him, he still loves me, and somehow we'll get through it.

I can always start fresh tomorrow, even if I repeat today's mistakes. I can always start over and if I look hard enough I'll see those rosy moments, glowing and peaceful, and I'll be ok.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Carly,

I assume that one day you will come to me wanting to know who you are, where you came from, where your other family is and why they gave you to us.  I offer you little bits of information already, but certainly not crumbs enough to satisfy the appetite.  Perhaps it won't matter to you.  I am assuming a lot, already, about how adoption will impact your life.

People often wonder why adoptive parents are hurt when their children seek out biological roots.  I have the answer, and it's very simple.  Adoption - at its core - makes us question the legality, authority, voracity, and validity of parenthood.  For most adoptive parents, first you must come to terms with an issue that strikes at the foundations of mortality: fertility.  From birth, most of us are driven to form families.  First we are nestlings, nurtured and weened and eventually taught to fly.  Then we are nest-builders, filling our lives with the stuff necessary to drive life forward.  Knowledge, safety, money, a sturdy …

On being away from home and turning sixteen: a letter to my son

Dear Josh,

I missed your sixteenth birthday.  I'm sure you recall - or maybe it wasn't so bad because you spent the whole day with your friend watching movies.  Godzilla and Guardians of the Galaxy, you've said.  It's no surprise to me that Godzilla was your favorite of the two.  That atomic green monster holds a special place in your heart.

It was very difficult for me to be away from you when you crossed this threshold in your life.  I remember turning sixteen, being sixteen, and wondering when I would feel like I was actually sixteen.  When I was sixteen, I went and found my first job, I started driving myself around, and I pretty much felt like I was in the wrong skin.  I'm only now, at 37, beginning to feel in the right skin.  Or at least comfortable with the skin I'm in.  But you - well, you don't seem to have a problem being you.  I can't explain how very happy that makes me feel, how very reassured.  Because it can be really hard not to like you…

Dear Carly (on your 9th birthday),

I can't remember what it is like to turn nine years old.  From watching you turn nine, it must have been difficult because it seems like everything is either really, really greator really, really bad.  Some days I think I might get whiplash from the mood swings (and you're not a teenager yet!).   But overall, I think nine must also be really wonderful.  You seem to be full of joy, even moments after being full of woe.  It's as if the joy just pushes the other stuff out.  It practically oozes from your pores.  More than that, on the days you choose to be happy, the whole world sings with you.  People are infected by it, drawn in to your sweet smile and shining eyes.  Attracted like bugs to a light.  You shine, dear little diva, so brightly sometimes it's blinding.

We just spent three weeks together in California, and I must have complained too much about your behavior because your dad believes we are oil and water right now.  I'd prefer to see us as oil and vinegar …