This week has been one long moment of reflecting on my children, now grown, all but one moved out. I guess at this point I should feel somewhat ‘enlightened’ to raising kids, yet, I only feel one thing, even to this day, about raising kids- CONFUSED.
I don’t know, maybe I am just feeling a bit sorry for myself. Maybe I see all these perfect pictures of happy families living in their perfectly squared miles of suburbia life, and I think,
“O Lord, O Lord, just where did I go wrong?”
You see, there is no perfection here. Quite honestly, as I talk to more and more people in this world, there’s no real perfection anywhere. We have spent so much time taking a million pictures to be able to post just one perfect view, that we have forgotten all the other frames we left behind. We cleverly show family photos where even the clothes match- I don’t know one family that leaves their house dressed identical, EVER. Yet someone decided that to look unique and individual might make your family photo look ‘messy’.
Let me fill you in- your family probably IS messy. This, my sweet, loving friend, is okay!
Who are we and what have we become? There is so much fairy tale in what we cleverly detail on social media pages, that we no longer need Disney!
My kids grew up in a combined family and combining that family was HARD! Some people were supportive, others- not so much. On Monday, one kid was bringing home A’s, by Friday he brought home D’s. On Tuesday, one kid cleaned their room, by Tuesday night we had an invisible tornado tear through that same room. Dishes sat piled in the sink, socks were thrown everywhere and wet towels sat on the floor. Silverware always disappeared! I assumed they were out camping with the missing sock. We had to hunt down a coat when it snowed, and homework may have averaged a three-hour marathon. We had fights, hollered, and ignored each other when we should have been peaceful, forgiving, and kind.
We had weekend trips, Broncos games, Rockies games and more. We had movie nights and day trips to the mountains, walks around the suburbia square miles we lived in. We had laughter and tears, joys and hurts. We struggled to get past what others put in our way, but we never stopped trying. I never once stopped trying, even when walls were erected and a permanent ‘stay out’ sign was posted. I never gave up even when he ran away. I never stopped believing- even when the same mistakes were made over, and over, and over…
I was never the best mom at anything, but you know what, I was never trying to be the best mom. I was just trying to survive being the average mom, the imperfect mom. I was at every doctor visit. I met with every single teacher. I knew every single grade. I emphasized every single strength, and tried to boost every single doubt. I prayed every single night, for every single child, for their very individual need. I hurt not once, or twice, or three times, but I hurt four times, individually for every single life in my hands.
I do not have pictures of matching outfitted children; I have pictures of messy children living a happy messy life. I would not change a thing.