I've been reading past entries. Boy, I spend a lot of time on parental soap boxes don't I. I sound like all of those other opinionated parents out in blog and Facebook land. I've probably said some offensive things. I'm sorry.
The truth is, I am drowning in parental insecurity. I don't know what I'm doing. In fact, I live in constant terror that the only thing that I'm accomplishing on a daily basis is the systematic ruining of these poor little souls put under my care. So when I hear of parents with children wallowing in scholarships and achievements and noteworthy successes, I get tired and bogged down and more terrified that I'm failing. Failing as a mother. Failing these children that I love so much.
So when I get snarky, it's because my son didn't get his Eagle at age 14, and my kids don't have 4.0's, and my baby may not get his Faith In God before the clock strikes twelve on his 12th birthday and he turns into a spiritual pumpkin. I get snarky because I'm trying to convince myself that somehow they're all going to be okay despite me and not because of me.
Forgive my parental rants. If you read closely between the lines, those rants are simply the pleas of a desperate parent looking for some sign, any sign that things are going to be okay. That at the end of the day these children might call me blessed and understand that I did my very best. That they'll remember that I loved them for who they were, and hopefully they will somehow love me for who I am. A mother who failed most of the time but loved all of the time.
On a side note: Some of the desperation in my writing might be attributed to the fact that Jonah wants to make a double decker Valentine box designed to look just like Bilbo's Hobbit Hole, and I just can't even right now.
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