The expectation versus the reality of having children is wildly different. Every stage is a challenge and nothing at all like you imagined. Above all, it’s harder than you ever expected. There are so many parts of motherhood that just plain suck, and it’s ok to hate them.
Theoretically, fall and winter holidays are a time of celebration, gratitude, generosity and togetherness. The reality is that somewhere along the way, much of our spirit of giving got up and went, leaving the holidays a f*cking nightmare for many.
We certainly have had some missteps, in particular once my daughter started school in the fall. But we recover and hug it out. I made it a practice to stand my ground as a parent, but to do so as gently as possible. And to readily admit my mistakes when I made them.
She is learning a new way of life and packed her little red suitcase and pink satin pillow and joined our crazy life in West Hartford for a night and a day.
We should not have to defend ourselves to each other. We are free (and encouraged!) to make our own decisions, to be inadequately, incorrectly, or even overly informed.
Ya know, the funny thing about change is that it’s not always welcomed. And let me tell you, it certainly wasn’t welcomed by me. I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t ready. Everything happened way too fast.
Tonight a neighbor walked by and casually said, “Well now what are you going to do when you have three?” Right. She said it. Stone-faced and with no follow up giggle. My reaction was natural: “Wait, did I ask you? Right, keep walking your dog.” (ok fine, originally the f-word was littered in there). But
All of our lists go on and on…. we pick and choose our battles. For example, I have given up on the bandaid stuck to the carpet upstairs. But my microwave is always clean. This is the merry-go-round of motherhood, full of contradictory feelings and experiences.
“We’re a triangle family!” my son proclaimed proudly to his therapist. “A what?” “A triangle—me, mom and dad.” “Oh, I see.” “What shape is your family, Dr. Peg?” “I guess you could say we’re a line. It’s just me and my mom.” My husband—tall, strong and stubborn, yet chill—had just been diagnosed with cancer. We
When I was sixteen years old, a series of poor choices resulted in my getting arrested. The punishment designated by the court was 100 hours of community service, overseen by Reverend William T. Federici of First Congregational Church. Unphased and unrepentant, I showed up (late, of course) for my first day of service straight from the beach: barefoot, sand covered, and bathing suit clad. Rev. Federici said not a word about what brought me to his office, and set about drawing me a diagram detailing the direct connection between the mind and the heart. He explained something called “the heart of the perfection of wisdom,” and advised that I needed not just to open, but to empty the negative thoughts cluttering my mind. For a disaffected teenager, it was quite a concept.