Mother's day is the perfect opportunity for those of us with children to step back and really take a good look at how well we are performing as parents.
On a scale of breakfast in bed -----> kids not speaking to me, I am about at a 4.5.
It's very easy to become consumed with all of the things that I am doing wrong.
For instance, my dating advice to daughter number one goes something like this: "Don't do it, it's stupid." She asked my opinion on sex in college, and I said emphatically that it should be avoided at all cost. So much for that fragile window of opportunity to plant seeds of understanding and enlightenment to grow my young child into healthy and mature relationships.
My second daughter showed up to eat the dinner I made for Mother's Day, steal the resident teenage boy's clothes and leave, while trying to hide her self inflicted belly-button ring from me. All kinds of parental triumphs there.
My third daughter scratched her long and triple jumps at the pre-district track meets today because I failed to pack her a decent lunch or snacks and she was hypoglycemic before she even hit the hurdles.
And Aspen, who is currently rocking an Avante-Garde haircut that I performed with dull kitchen shears, made no-bake chocolate cookies today with about 1/8th the called for oats. At least she persevered on her puddles of chocolate goo, while I was too busy doing Something Important to help her find a solution.
I spent mother's day trying to fix Aspen's bike, which resulted in the successful remounting of a new tire and inner tube, only to poke a hole in said inner tube directly after installation. Then I tried to mow the lawn, and since the gas mower is broken, and poured a gallon of dear-bought gas onto to lawn from a broken gas line, I decided to be brave and use the decrepit old manual push mower. I got two passes done, re-tore my worst shoulder and gave up. I did notice there are less dandelions in the 1.5 foot swath I mowed. I weeded about a square foot of the raspberry patch, then conceded my loss. I ran 150 feet of leaking wild land toy hose across my yard to wash my car, or really to give it soap scum stripes and a flat tire from the questionable yard driving. I tried to restring my weedwhacker and did something wrong, because it wouldn't go back together. Finally, after all of this, I gave up, went inside, made myself a drink and thanked the gods that it wasn't father's day, or my failures would have been catastrophic.
My bank account is, once again overdrawn.
My long haired dachshund is currently relocating half of the driveway in weeds and gravel into my bed with her fur, on freshly washed sheets.
My shoulder HURTS.
I have two days of training and a writer's retreat this week that are taking me far from home, yet again. I know that I am the luckiest girl to get to go to All Of the Places, but I am tired. This is the last push and then I can stay home and persist in failing miserably at all of my responsibilities here.
It's been awhile since I felt like I did something right. Since I nailed it. Since I was wildly successful, attractive, WINNING.
But in all this, I see my friend hurting for a daughter who is literally fighting for her life. I see families of fallen police officers trying to figure out how to go on with their hero-less lives. I see hopelessness, homelessness, and loss all around me, and really, I am winning.
I have four(six) beautiful, smart, talented, HEALTHY girls. I have a safe, quiet, messy, wonderful home. I have a running car. I have a huge, loving, ridiculous family. I have work. I have groceries. I have dogs. I have it all. I AM winning.
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