We weren't meant to walk alone

I must have made quite the spectacle. Little ole' 5ft3.5in me pushing the over-sized shopping cart with two impatient boys one handed, the other hand carrying 5 large boxes while 8 unruly boxes perched precariously on the cart did their best to scatter across the parking lot . . . 

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The Ministry of Authenticity

I've watched it happen so often: a tired mom walks up to a group of mothers sitting at a table. The chit-chat continues as she sits down and glances slowly from woman to woman. As the conversation turns to more serious topics, perhaps it is her exhaustion that compels her to speak. All eyes turn to her as she tells with a catch in her voice of the trial or perceived failure she is dealing with.  

Suddenly she realizes she has opened herself up and fear lights up her eyes. The air in the room becomes momentarily thick as she waits, bracing herself, to hear the response of those around her when someone speaks up . . . 

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Formulas belong in math, not parenting

I think we all long for control. And as moms, we all long for that special formula that will give us the results we so long for. The little years are exhausting (can I get an amen?), but there is something in them that eases my tired heart: control.

For now, I can control their environment. I can make sure they are safe to learn, play, and grow. For now, their poor choices are easily corrected with a time out, discussion, and hug. For now, I can keep them from bad company and distract them from poor role models. For now, so much of their existence is within my control. But I fully know as time passes on the day is coming when they will exercise their own free will. And that is scary because I can't control it.

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