I was more tired than I could have ever dreamed of being. It was so hard. I felt alone in the night and like a walking zombie all day. My rose-colored glasses were shattered, but I was left with a few tools I didn’t know I would need.
What I thought would be a lesson for my son in appropriate store behavior turned into a lesson for me about compassion. I learned that sometimes compassion trumps other things, like my plans.
Of course, it would be ideal to give our best every single day. But now I know that today’s best is different from yesterday’s best. And some days I’ll admit that I am not even giving my best. But I am still giving. And that is enough.
Ever since I was first pregnant, I can’t feed my family anything without second guessing myself. Being responsible for another person is often motivation for people to make healthy changes in their lives, but for me it created a slippery slope to a state of anxiety.
Have you ever judged another mother for doing something, only to find yourself doing the exact same thing later? If you need a good laugh, check out this lighthearted post from Brooke Romney about how she learned not to judge.
There is a voice in my head. And it is mean. It is critical. In the past I’ve tried to change the way I think, but it hasn’t stuck well enough. However, my crazy imagination recently found something that seems to finally be making a difference.
My kids aren’t at all like I thought they’d be–but that’s okay! I’ve quit trying to change them. I accept and honor the amazing, unique people they are. And you know what? We’re all happier.
What if paying attention to our children’s technological obsessions could give us insight into their needs? Author Amanda Hamilton Roos explores this idea in this thought-provoking post.
Sometimes being the “perfect” mother means taking a step back and seeing yourself from the eyes of your child.
I am an annoying parent. I’m not talking about being annoying to other people; I’m talking about being annoying to my children themselves. I’ve found that when I tweak the delivery of my expectations to be less irritating, I enjoy parenting more and have fewer battles with my strong-willed son.
Once I admired the museum-like homes of women who decorate with exquisite vases and see the sunrise through fingerprint-free windows. But museums are for halted history. My life is in vibrant, living color. The signs are everywhere, splashed across the canvas of our home where we are alive and well.
Trying to set and accomplish goals as a mother with children (let alone little ones underfoot) can be a shaky if not downright doomed process. How can we remedy this reality to still seek out progress for ourselves and our families?