Category Archives: Family Life

Happy Birthday

February 6, 2016 blogobeth Leave a comment

Dear Lucy,

You are turning 12 this year. You are in staunch denial of the fact that you are growing up. As desperately as possible you are pushing back impending womanhood. You are clinging to the rough and tumble life of a child like a new swimmer clutches the edge of the pool. You still have bruised knees and bandaid elbows. You are far more likely to wear Chuck Taylor tennis shoes and jeans than you are a dress and flats. You don’t like makeup, boys or movie stars, and as your mother I indulge these desires. I encourage you to cling to your childhood.

Like a desert mirage I periodically see glimpses of your maturation. Your persona on stage, your soaring voice when you sing, the gentle way you care for your sister — all glimpses of grown-up Lucy. Your sudden and passionate interest in world news and politics, your initiative and organization during school hours, your sophisticated taste in music and art — all make my heart glow as I see the person you are becoming. And then, at the end of the day you fling your arms around my neck as tight as can be, nuzzle your head and mumble, “do you know how much I love you?” and I think, “not nearly as much as I love you.”

Dear Max,

You just turned 10 and this is the year you really discovered yourself. Up until now you have hid in the background just hoping people wouldn’t really notice you, unsure of your strengths, not knowing what made you special. But this past year I have seen you blossom.

Although your stutter persists you are no longer self conscious about it. In fact you volunteered to sing with your band – IN FRONT OF PEOPLE. And that band has been key in building your self-confidence. An environment of young boys and men where you feel like you can be yourself — a little quirky, a little rock and roll.

Your gentle heart and delicate emotions still run very close to the surface always threatening to bubble over. And although at times you view this as a weakness I can assure you that it is your greatest strength — your strong desire to love and be sympathetic is crafting you into a strong, virtuous young man. An honorable gentleman who diverts his eyes when faced with scantily clad women or inappropriate content. A young sir who is painfully honest and who defends those weaker and more vulnerable than himself.

And yet when I tuck you into bed at night – with a quick kiss to the forehead – you still feel like my tiny boy. Not sure that feeling will ever go away.

Dear Harper,

You turned 6 years old. I owe you an apology Harper. Your childhood has been a series of missed steps. You seemed to never have had the opportunity to wallow in being little because your big sister and brother have dragged you quickly into “big-kid” territory. You ride a two-wheel bike with no training wheels, you are rushing to learn to read, and want to do everything they do. You want to be EXACTLY like your big sister and follow her around everywhere. You are very lucky that she is so gentle and patient with you and rarely complains. In fact, she lets you sleep with her every night.

You have a spunky personality that does not take well to being denied ANYTHING. “No” is not a word you like to hear. As stubborn and pushy as you can be I’ve never seen such an empathetic spirit. You are quick to run to somebody’s aid, nurse a boo-boo or dry some tears. You get great joy in taking care of others and with every step I become even more convinced that you will go into the medical field someday. You love hospitals, doctor’s offices and look forward to going.

I snuggle and cajole and bend to your will. You are my last baby and I will not let go easily and you seem to be completely okay with that. At this age I was already worrying about your big brother and sister giving up blankets and sucking thumbs and rushing them to be “big” but with you I have no such desire. Just stay little Harper – for as long as possible.

Family Life, Personal

A Mother’s Day Battle

May 20, 2015 blogobeth Leave a comment

We learn how to be a mother from our own mothers. Everything from the simple, how to kiss a boo-boo to serving up tough love is all first taught to us through example. Our mother teaches us about love, nurturing, and kindness.

My grandmother was the product of war and oppression – an immigrant who fled her own country out of fear. Who witnessed atrocities of injustice and inhumanity at the young age of 8. These tragic events created a woman, who in her own turn, transferred those fears and anger onto her own child. My mother, out of the strongest of desires to not repeat the errors of her mother, went in the opposite direction.

My mother didn’t know about unconditional love, safety, fearlessness or warmth but she did her best to give my siblings and I that very kind of childhood. A childhood from the pages of a magazine. We had homemade costumes, and cookies. She hosted themed parties that would rival anything you saw on Pinterest. She packed lunches and drove us to activities, and helped with homework and hired tutors and attended concerts and ALWAYS picked up the phone. My friends would often collect at my home and tell me that they wished my mother was their mother.

For 37 years my mother held her emotional breath – not allowing any of the negative thinking or abuse seep out of her mouth or her behavior. She held it in. All of it. The pain, her mother’s voice, the negative cloud of her own upbringing was kept sharply at bay until all of her three children left the house.

My mother has grown weary of fighting the demons. She has faltered and now they nip at her heels — they crowd her.

As a mother myself now – sometimes struggling with the right things to say or do for my kids. Hearing words come from my mouth that I wish I could take back – seeing and doing things that I wish I hadn’t done I can’t help but admire my mother even more.

How did she do it? How did she fight her most basic nature for so long? How did she not allow those demons to pass?

My mother spent several days in the hospital this week – she’s older, more frail, her weaknesses all raw and exposed. Her nerves frayed and easily agitated. But I think I admire her more now than I ever have. It is in her weakest moments, when the demons raise their heads, that I recognize the strength that she carried for so long. The battle that she waged within herself.

And I want her to know, on this Mother’s Day, that she won. I know she hurts and has regrets and I know all that pain is with her everyday now. But she raised three children who know about unconditional love, and kindness and charity and nurturing and friendship. And we in turn are raising seven children who are growing in love and kindness and charity. So perhaps her life was sacrificial, but those same demons will no longer follow our family line. They have been stopped. She might have lost her own personal fight, but she won the war.

Family Life, Uncategorized

Vantage Point

March 5, 2015 blogobeth Leave a comment

Recently, I’ve been thinking about mortality. David’s grandmother is standing on the doorway of heaven and she has started talking to dead people. Her arms are out stretched welcoming the comfort that only death can provide. Everyday I see Harper as she runs into life with her heart open and spirit soaring. My parents have entered retirement and are facing new challenges with humor. My young neighbor with two sweet baby boys is battling life-threatening cancer, and my students sit on the precipice of adulthood.

And here I am – 44 – and with the unique ability to see all stages of life everyday and from one vantage point. It is both inspiring and frightening. Middle age makes you acutely aware of how fast time flies and how little time each of us has on this earth. This self reflection has made me ask many questions but the one most prominent seems to be, “How am I spending that time?”

When we are young it is a question that is supposed to inspire us to chase our dreams but as you get older it becomes a more practical question. Every day I wake up and make a choice regarding how I’m spending that next 12 hour period. Will I regret it later in life? Will I regret not taking better care of my body? Will I regret not taking the time to be with my friends? Will I regret not traveling more? Will I regret not pursing some of my dreams and aspirations? I don’t have magic answers. I wish I did. Illness and old age overtakes us whether we are triathlon runners or life-time partiers. But it is the WHAT of our lives that seems to make the difference. What did we do with our time.

1.) NOTHING is more important than friends and family

The time I cherish most is the time I spend with my children and my family. The lazy Saturdays, the funny conversations in the car, the snuggles in bed, the comfortable silence on the back porch, the conversation filled dinners. I don’t cherish the time I spend rushing my kids to lessons or classes or activities. I don’t cherish the time I spend fulfilling obligations. Obligations are for the young and I don’t choose to fill my calendar with such nonsense.

2.) Saying “No” is hard

A reoccurring New Years resolution for me is to start saying “no” more often. I pretty much fail every year but I keep trying. It is not out of obligation that I say “yes” but out of a desire to want to do EVERYTHING. Yes, of course I want to sign up for cooking classes. Yes, I want my kids in the gifted engineering program. Yes, I want to organize field trips. Yes, I want to help the homeless at church. Yes, I will teach more classes. It all sounds wonderful and exciting and FUN and I don’t want to miss ANYTHING. But in missing nothing I neglect the most important, which brings me back to point #1 – nothing is really more important than those quiet Saturdays and time spent loving each other.

3.) Balance health but don’t make it your idol

Our journey has been set for us and no matter how much exercise or gluten-free eating we do is going to change that. However, don’t be purposefully neglectful because you might need some of that old body later on. I try to eat a balanced diet, but I’m definitely not opposed to the Oreo/Pop-tart/doughnut kind of day. I walk the dog everyday but I doubt I will ever commit myself to a spinning class or hours at the gym. Conversely though, if that is what brings you joy then DO IT. Walking the dog, during the early quiet hours of the morning when I can hear the birds chirping – that brings me joy.

4.) Prioritize your dreams

When I was in 5th grade I told my teacher that I wanted to grow up and write books for a living. If I live to be 95 (which considering my genetic legacies and assuming no unforeseen circumstances) I am almost halfway through my life, which means I’m at the peak of my life mountain. Realistically I probably only have another 40 years left to do all the things I want to do and trust me, that list is LONG. But, I have a list and that is an important first step. I might not write that novel I’ve always said I would but I will see the Globe theater, because I’ve prioritized it. I will suck every moment out of watching my kids grow up because I’ve prioritized that experience. I will take mother/daughter trips, and see my kids graduate college, and I will spend evenings with my husband sitting on the porch. I will cook with my sister and laugh with my parents and fill my days with love. Which brings me to my last point…..

5.) It’s all about the people

This isn’t earth-shattering or even novel. We all know this but how often do we lose track of it? How often do we lose track of what is really important? And I guess that is why it has been on my mind. I’ve already lost people. I’ve already attended funerals with people shaking their heads and saying the “should haves” and “could haves” of regret.

“For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

I’m terrified that I will lose track of those important things. I fear that I will get so caught up in checking off the “to-do’s” of societal obligation that I will forget to spend time doing the really important things. And perhaps this is just my long-winded way of justifying not cleaning my house.

Family Life, Personal, Working Mom

The Road Not Taken

July 9, 2014 blogobeth Leave a comment

My very first job was working for Dr. Harry Davis D.D.S. Dr. Davis seemed old to me in 1986 and just grew more ancient until his passing last year. He was tall and lanky with a shiny bald head that he would rub with his eyes closed while talking to patients. He still smoked in his office in 1986 and when AIDS came onto the scene he was a bit circumspect about wearing plastic shields over his face. He was an old school, small town dentist who believed in giving back to his community and helping young, stupid teenage girls gain a little work experience. I loved Dr. Davis. He was kind and gentle and incredibly patient with me as I fumbled around his office.

I’ve worked everyday since my time with Dr. Davis. I have slowly and methodically built a career. A career that has challenged me and afforded me the benefit of travel and a variety of new experiences. When I switched from advertising to teaching – in order for me to spend more time with my kids – it seemed natural and a simple redirection of my energy and ambition. I pursued my career as a project manager and strategist with enthusiasm and passion. Teaching has been no different. I’m not the kind of teacher who uses the same textbook or syllabus or even in class exercises for more than a couple of semesters. I’m always striving to make my classes better – always trying to serve my students better.

Since 2006 I have applied for a full-time teaching position almost every school year. I have been rejected every year — not even granted an interview. In 2013, after applying and being rejected AGAIN I made some fundamental decisions about my career. First, I was not going to get my PhD in order to improve my chances at a full time appointment. Secondly, I obviously did not have a long term career path in college education. I began to look at the job, for the first time in my life, as a job. I was beaten down. I felt defeated.

I started homeschooling the kids this past fall and it seemed that perhaps this was God’s grand plan. I was meant to teach my kids and be home. I was destined to let go of my career ambitions and focus on my children. I felt a new passion for teaching and was loving the ability to teach other subjects to my most favorite people. Frankly, since I didn’t really have an option of doing anything differently it seemed like a good thing.

In June I received an email – I was being asked to come in and interview for a full time teaching position.

Really? After 8 years? After I already decided I didn’t want the job? Seriously? God, do you REALLY think that is funny? Cuz it totally is not funny. Not laughing. Not even a little.

I interviewed for the job and it went as well as I could expect and sure enough I received a job offer.

*sigh*

And so there I sat having to choose – do I continue homeschooling my kids and sacrificing my career or do I send them back to public school and pursue my ambitions full steam? Because contrary to what Sheryl Sandberg or Kim Kardashian tell us most women really CAN’T have it all.

I didn’t respond to the job offer. I went on vacation instead. I spent a lot of that time reflecting on my own happiness, my desires and goals for my children, my role as wife and mother, and asking myself about the example I want to set for my girls. As my friend Christine said to me, “this is a decision regarding authenticity. Where is your heart?” Who am I? Where am I going? What do I want?

I wish I could say that this decision was clear cut and easy for me to make, but it wasn’t. I cried. I prayed. I asked advice. I consulted all the important people in my life and it all came back to the same thing – “what is in your heart”. There is only one thing in my heart — well three things really, and they think their Mom is pretty cool without a full time job.

Robert Frost has always been misquoted. It is not that the path he took in the wood was unexplored – as a matter of fact he says they were both about the same (stanza 2). It is the fact that he chose one road, knowing he would not be able to go back and take the other (stanza 3), and that choice put him on a different life journey. And so I’ve chosen my path and it will make all the difference.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

–––Robert Frost–––

Family Life

The Story Of One Father

June 13, 2014 blogobeth Leave a comment

Every mother has a story. Whether that is adoption or natural birth or c-section, every mother has a story of the day their life changed forever. Frequently these stories include detailed accounts of labor or difficult pregnancies or painful infertility.

The stories we don’t hear are the ones about the day men become fathers. As I get older and reflect on my thirties I regret the fact that perhaps David’s story was left behind. That perhaps in my own confusion about what it meant to be a mother and in the fog of early parenthood I never gave much thought to the journey David traveled. Perhaps he has been far more alone in that journey then I have given him credit.

David supported me quietly and steadily through two years of infertility. As I swung between the tree limbs of hope and despair he stayed sturdy on the ground. I would plummet into tears and he would lift my spirits by telling me that he would take me on fancy European vacations if we ended up childless. If his heart ached or if he was also disappointed he never gave voice to it.

After Lucy was born I struggled with breast feeding and as I sat on the edge of our bed crumpled into a pile of tears and failure it was David who gently lifted me up and put me back on my feet. It was David who told me that I was a fantastic mother before I even knew what being a mother meant.

Max was born right on the heels of Lucy and I suddenly found myself being a full time working mother and all of the demands that the role includes. When I came to David tired, stressed and unsure of my path it was David who gave me the space to figure out my own career choices and supported every decision I made.

When I miscarried and thought the world had come to an end it was David who dried my tears and told me to be patient — that time heals all wounds – and then gave me that time to heal.

And when we got unexpectedly pregnant with the third. When his job was pressing him to the brink of insanity. When the idea of bringing home a baby into a house with no space must have been weighing on him he went and bought us a new house.

After Harper was born and I found myself in a new house, with a third baby, and my son facing a tonsillectomy and the clouds of postpartum depression rolling in it was David who gently told me to not worry about the kids but take care of myself. He was the one who said, “do whatever you need to do – sleep if that feels good – talk if it feels good”.

During all of this chaos David has traveled his own journey into parenthood. How did he know what fatherhood would be like, or feel like? Did he know what kind of father he would be? Perhaps he didn’t know. Perhaps he still doesn’t know. However, I know.

He is an amazing father who shows unfailing, unconditional love every day. He is a father who easily shares a joke and extends forgiveness. He believes in high adventures and lazy Saturdays. He is the kind of dad who will teach you to bait a hook and how to take the best selfie all in the same day. He is a father who believes that a healthy and happy mother makes for healthy and happy children. He is a father who loves his children. But above all else he is the best and only father I could ever imagine for my children.

Happy Father’s Day David.

Family Life, Kids

Happy Birthday

March 2, 2014 blogobeth Leave a comment

When you are in the middle of creating your family the idea of ever having a time when there won’t be somebody needing a diaper or needing a bottle or needing something will never happen. It feels like this marathon to which there is no finish line. When you’ve stopped having children, in that moment, somebody starts the stopwatch and your time begins to tick down. Every day is one less day you will have with your kids. Every last shoe that you tie is one less you will do in the future. Suddenly there is a finish line, and it feels like it is rushing towards you faster than you ever imagined. Perhaps I’m more aware because I’m an older mother, perhaps this is the natural progression of parenthood. I don’t know, I just wish my kids didn’t have to get any older and that time could stop right now.

Dear Lucy,

You just turned 10 years old. You keep trying to convince me that this makes you a “pre-teen” but I refuse to acknowledge the term or the classification. This has frustrated you to no end and is quite symbolic of how you feel — one foot firmly stuck in childhood and one pulling you into adolescence. You have ushered into an age of fear. You are worried about EVERYTHING. The world has become this large, scary place that both excites you and frightens you. You are as likely to tell me that you want to go hang gliding as you are to tell me that you are scared of the dark. You want to know about the origin of mankind but also blindly believe in the Tooth Fairy. You will back talk me one second and reach for my hand the next.

Although this yin-yang of your personality is challenging and quite perplexing it is also the dynamic that I admire most about you. Because if I had to choose one word to describe you Lucy it would be courageous. Yes, you are scared and fearful and worried but that doesn’t stop you. I’ve seen you stay strong, in the face of what would be paralyzing fear in others. This inner strength, this lioness that lurks deep within you is your most amazing quality. It is your strength paired with your delicate sensitivities and natural nurturing personality that has you defending your baby sister one second and holding her hand the next.

Although I have begun to mourn the passing of your childhood I eagerly await the young woman you are about to become, because you will amaze the world.

Dear Max,

You turned 8 this year and although I struggle to keep up with your age I can no longer ignore it. You’ve grown so much physically and emotionally that I’m starting to see hints of what you will be like as a man. Your big bear hugs are becoming less common as you become aware of the fact that it isn’t cool to hug your Mom. Your tears flow less often, with your frustration now being expressed as anger. Your stutter is still there but you seem to be less self conscious of it. You have struggled to figure out who you are but I’m starting to see your strengths bubble to the surface. You’ve developed a love of robotics and engineering. You want to know how things work, how they break, how they are built and are fascinated with any toy or tool that reinforces this idea.

In many ways you are getting to be a big boy, wanting to play rough with your friends, stay home by yourself and do other “big boy” things and yet so much of “little Max” is still there that I can’t help but to still baby you. Your tears break my heart and your frustrations are mine to carry. I protect you far more aggressively than your confident sister. And perhaps, just perhaps, I baby you too much.

Dearest Harper,

Your physical body can barely contain your personality. You may only be four but everybody who meets you knows there is no doubt about who you are. Although you have all the traditional markings of a four year old; stubbornness, fierceness, and a need for things to be YOUR way it is the non-typical things that I adore. You have a strong streak of sympathy and your apologies and regrets at hurt feelings flow freely. Your absolute obsession with all things medical to the point where you insist on accompanying EVERYBODY to EVERY doctor’s appointment. You admire the doctor’s instruments and comment, “they are sooooo beautiful”. You have such a strong desire to be “a part of” every conversation or activity that you just talk over everybody — total nonsense pours out of your mouth — but you are part of the conversation and that is all that matters.

Most importantly, you are my third and my last and therefore I wallow in your babyhood. The way you smell, the softness of your skin, the innocent comments, the clumsy hugs and freely shared kisses — all will disappear before I know it. And when you leave these things behind so will I and therefore I am in no hurry for you to grow up. I’ve not set a deadline for you to stop sucking your thumb. I’m in no rush to force you to give up diapers. You can not know your letters and shapes and colors a bit longer. And yet, the irony is that all of these things are happening faster with you than the first two because you are the last. You are sprinting through your toddlerhood in an effort to keep up with your big sister and brother just as I clamor to hold you back.

My dearest Harper, please stay a baby a little longer. Please stay curled in my lap a little longer. Please let me nuzzle your head a little longer.

Family Life, Personal

A Christmas Love Story

January 6, 2014 blogobeth Leave a comment

I lived in room 424 and she lived in room 324. I drove a bright yellow Geo Storm and she drove a bright orange VW Bug with plaid interiors. Kym and I met in August of my Junior year in college. We were Resident Advisors together and after one weekend of being on duty we were best friends. Kym is the keeper of my twenties. She knows the stories she can share (the night we dressed as ninjas) and the ones that are best forgotten. She knows when I’m lying to myself and tells me. We ate breakfast together, dinner together, walked to class together and dated sets of roommates. There isn’t a kiss, crush, or heartbreak that happened between ages 19-28 that Kym doesn’t know about or witnessed.

As college faded into the past and our lives became involved with husbands and careers and children our hourly communication drifted gradually into once every couple of months. The two lives that were so completely intertwined in college eventually became two parallel lives in different cities and often in different states.

Time passed.

This past September Kym’s husband was deployed to the middle east. Deployments are never easy, but Kym has waited through them before and was prepared for the four months ahead of her. We talked before her husband’s deployment and exchanged some sporadic emails in the month that followed. She was doing fine and keeping her family on track. In November I called to check on her and she shared her excitement about her mother flying down in the next couple of days. Her mom was going to stay with her for a month and she and the kids were so excited. Three days later Kym called to tell me that her mother would not be flying down because she had been admitted into the hospital with non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. A reoccurrence of a disease her mother had battled only 18 months prior.

Her voice was different. I knew, as only a friend of 20 years can know, that she had crossed her tipping point. She said she was okay and she said she would manage and that she didn’t need help but it was all a lie. Her voice. The sadness and despair that lurked right under the surface was evident. David insisted she come and stay with us until her husband’s return. She resisted. I insisted that she stay with us for Thanksgiving, but she said no. I started calling weekly, texting regularly, and trying to gauge her needs from afar. In December, she finally relented to come for Christmas – Kym, her four kids and two dogs. When they finally spilled out of their car and I caught her in my arms I didn’t want to let go.

The holiday was magical. There was joy and laughter and kindness and children and puppies billowing out of every corner of my house. We ate cookies, played games, shopped and talked until midnight EVERY DAY. We retold old stories, made new ones, and fell into the easy friendship that has sustained for so many years – the only thing missing was the cafeteria food. We cried at every doctor’s update and smiled at every phone call from overseas. We rolled our eyes at our children, shook our fists in frustration and laughed at the mothers we have become. And after ten days and with the promise that we will not allow so much time to pass between visits she packed up and drove home.

Friendship is hard. It is hard to find friends, make friends and keep friends. Most of us can look in our rear view mirror and see friendships that were dropped along the roadside, either due to time, or circumstance. Female friendships are even harder, frequently the victim of hurt feelings. But if you are lucky enough to have a friend — just one — that can look into your eyes and know your heart, who willingly shares your tears, and who can make you laugh at every corner of life – you are the richest person of all. And this Christmas, as I was surrounded by my parents, my sister, my brother-in-law, my nephews and my best friend I realized there wasn’t a single thing I wanted for Christmas.

Family Life, Kids

The Legacy Of The Advent Calendar

November 24, 2013 blogobeth Leave a comment

Shortly after Max was born I got this crazy idea to make my own advent calendar. I remembered always having an advent calendar as a child and Pinterest was filled with so many great ideas that I figured it would be simple. I’m inherently neither a sewer nor a crafter. I have zero patience for those sorts of things. However, I decided that this was a project I could handle. Insert eye roll and large laborious sighs.

It took me close to a month to complete my advent calendar and at the end it looked like an 8th grade Home Ec student made it. However, it was functional and so I used it with the intention that I would replace it with something nicer and probably store bought. Over the years the pockets of our advent calendar have been filled with all kinds of things – tiny toys, Christmas ornaments, activity coupons, bible passages, pencils, candy and other special treats. Every year I take the calendar out with the idea that I will look for something “nicer” – something a bit more professional looking.

This year as the Christmas and Hanukkah decorations were pulled into the house I handed the advent calendar to Lucy and told her to hang it up. She and Max exclaimed in delight and jumped around squealing with anticipation of what the calendar might hold this year. Again, I stood back and admired my shoddy sewing job.

It was several days later when Lucy and I were busy running errands that she said to me in the car, “Mama, when you are done with the advent calendar – like when you no longer have kids at home – can I have it for my kids?” *sniffle*

As mothers we are so hard on ourselves. Our expectations and standards for what we should be doing and how much we should be accomplishing is beyond unrealistic. I recently read a blog post on the momastery describing a visit to the elementary school where children were asked to write about their dreams. All the children wrote down that they dreamed, “for my family to be happy”. Happy. That is what our children want. They want us to be happy. Lucy’s request for my lopsided, poorly sewn, messily finished advent calendar is a reminder that where I see mistakes she sees beauty. Where I’m thinking “I could do better” – my children are thinking “I have the best Mom ever”.

Perhaps the job of motherhood isn’t nearly as hard as we are making it. Perhaps if we focused more on being happy and less on being perfect this job would seem far more attainable. Perhaps happiness just means a simple adjustment in perspective.