MORNING

1 a : dawn b : the time from sunrise to noon c : the time from midnight to noon

I'm not much of a morning person.  But I realized today that mornings are different than they used to be.  At 8:20, my brother-in-law called.  J and I were awake, but still in bed.  When I asked why he was calling so early, he laughed and said, "I've been up for two and a half hours.  It's not early."  Ahh, the joys of having an almost one year old are numerous, but none of them relate to the amount of sleep you get.

This summer, my 10 year old (A), 8 year old (B) and 6 year old (K) have consistently let me sleep until about 8 each morning.  (Except for that one week when the backsplash was being tiled - the tile guy was an early riser and started work each day at 7.  That was tough.)  Generally, I hear little feet running around by about 7:30 or 7:45, but it's near 8 before K runs upstairs and climbs into bed with me - or pulls me out of bed to come and see something.  I know from experience that we're in a very sweet place.

Before my brother-in-law's phone call this morning, B had made her way upstairs to snuggle for a while.  B's not the earliest of risers.  This summer, it's often been 8:30 or 9:00 before she emerges from her room and she will gladly stay in her pajamas even longer.  But she recently expressed a desire to make it upstairs before I was out of bed so that we could snuggle, so I was pleased to see her sweet face through my own bleary eyes this morning around 7:45.  K often comes up to snuggle in the mornings and while the bed was a bit full with four of us in it, I'm not complaining.  I know these days will rush by because I remember the ones that have already gone.

Today at lunch we were laughing about how J and I bought A a digital clock about six years ago and told her she absolutely could not come into our room until it said 6:00.  She and her uncle still remember the morning K was born, when he walked into her room and A was sitting by the clock, waiting for it to hit 6:00.  How long she had been sitting there waiting was anyone's guess. 

For a while after that day, A's little alarm clock was unnecessary.  K's cries regulated our sleep - or lack thereof.  Those newborn days are a bit hazy with each of my daughters, but I do remember several times with K when I was up and walking towards her cries before I was fully awake.  My body awoke before my mind and propelled me to her.  I don't especially miss that in-your-bones exhaustion that is the bailiwick of mothers with infants.  I don't even especially miss having an infant.  I love sleeping in a bit in the mornings and having a bit more time in the evening with J since I don't have to get up early.  I love things like K walking into the room with a baseball glove on her hand, saying, "Daddy, don't you want to play baseball with me?"  I love A showing me how she's going to do her solo when she's on So You Think You Can Dance.  I love B sharing a favorite book with me.  In fact, I have a feeling that I'll miss having daughters who are 10, 8 and 6 more than just about any stage prior to this.  They are perfect little buds - I get glimpses every now and then of what talents will ultimately flower within them, but they are still young, still children.

The days of needing to tell A she's can't enter our room until 6 are gone, but A is still an early riser.  I wonder how much longer that will last.  She's ten and is showing physical and emotional signs that adolescence is approaching.   In the blink of an eye, J and I will be the first ones awake, debating how much later we should let our teenage daughters sleep.  So while it lasts, I'll enjoy these sweet, lazy mornings in our home and I'll not spend too much time - or shed too many tears in advance - anticipating the mornings that will find a J and an S, but no A, B or K here.

Bright and early - first day of school, 2009

RE-

(prefix)
1 : again : anew

Is it hard to start something for the first time?  Or is it harder to pick it back up again when you have a skill, a talent, an interest that you've let atrophy?  Three things have prompted this line of thinking:  having a newly functioning kitchen, exercising again in earnest for the first time since my January surgery, and experiencing the loss of community that came with a switch in churches.

Who knew a new kitchen would actually bring on a touch of cooking anxiety?  The first meal I made in our new kitchen wasn't terribly elaborate:  tomato tart, zucchini patties and a fruit trifle.  The primary emotion I felt when the meal came together just fine and tasted delicious?  Relief.  I didn't realize until relief surged through my body that I had been afraid I had forgotten how to cook.  This may sound ridiculous, but when I stopped to think about it, it had been many months since I'd been able to regularly cook. 

The New Kitchen's Inaugural Meal

The kitchen renovation kept me from cooking for four to six weeks - no surprise there.  But prior to that, my surgery in January had completely halted all cooking from me for a similar span of time.  Between the surgery and the renovation lay a lovely experiment:  food swap with three other families, which resulted in me cooking only once per week, albeit for four families.  So it had been approximately six months since I last cooked everyday meals for my family.  No wonder I was relieved to still have some culinary skill.

A graph of my work outs would have a similar gap.  Prior to my surgery in January, I worked out fairly regularly (2-3 times weekly) if not strenuously (yoga and walking were regular components).  Post surgery, it was several weeks before I could walk without assistance, much less exercise.  My surgeon, while skilled in her field, did not give me a good indication of just how long it would take for me to resume normal activity after having three tendons cut.  For a long time, when I tried to work out, it was simply discouraging.  My leg would hurt after each work out - and not in a good, achy, post-workout way - it was more of a searing pain, ice this now kind of way. 

So I stopped trying for a while.  Then, a few weeks ago, I realized how envious I was of the various people I see walking, jogging and running along our neighborhood sidewalks.  If my desire to work out had returned, it was worth giving it a try.  For the month of July, I've been moderately consistent and while I have a long way to go, the desire is there.  But it's hard to admit I now get tired after three minutes of running, instead of a mile of it.

No way am I posting a picture of me running

I would estimate we're in about mile 2 or 3 of the marathon task of finding a new church home.  Summer being what it is, we're in just about the same place we were in May, when J said, "We've determined that we like the Sunday morning experience.  Now we need to find out whether there are people we could actually be friends with."  We've been in this place before.  When A was born ten years ago, I would say we had very few true friends.  We hung out with co-workers quite a bit and saw a few friends from college days, but all in all those were pretty lonely days.  No one brought us meals to celebrate her birth.  Almost none of our friends had children, so there was nowhere to turn for advice. 

Carrying it all alone

 The difference between then and now is that now we know what we are missing.  I know that I'm lonely and miss the friendships - both close and casual - that I had at our old church.  I don't think this loss is without purpose because I continue to feel peace in our decision and I feel that God is working behind the scenes to use my sense of being alone for a purpose he knows.  But that doesn't make it easy.  It doesn't make it easier to once again engage with a group of people we know nothing about.  It doesn't make it easy to make small talk with strangers at an event (not my strong suit).  It doesn't make it possible for me to have enough inner dialogue to think through an issue in my own head like I could by talking it out with a friend.

Naming 2010 the year of change has been more apt than I knew back in January.  Change apparently brings not only new things, but old things in a new way.  In some ways, reestablishing my culinary skills, relearning to pace myself on a run and returning to a lack of community should be reassuring.  I've been here before and can relearn what I need to.  But sometimes I just want life to be easier than it is.

PICNIC

1 : an excursion or outing with food usually provided by members of the group and eaten in the open

Sometimes the easiest requests from my children are the hardest to fulfill. Monday, K comes to me in the morning and says, “Can we have a picnic?!” As she asks this, she is nearly vibrating with excitement.  I, on the other hand, am standing in the kitchen, filling my water bottle in preparation for the treadmill. “Not right now, honey. I need to exercise. Let’s do a picnic after we go to the grocery store.”  My plan is to head to the store as soon as I finish my work out. “Ok!” K replies, her enthusiasm only slightly dampened by the idea of postponing the picnic for a few hours.

Fast forward a few hours. I’ve hit the treadmill and the shower, then played lunch lady to three girls, two of whom are still in their pajamas. It’s only noon and I’m exhausted. After clearing away the remnants of lunch, I read for a bit, check e-mail and research a few more books for our home school reading list (it only has 98 or so books on it, I’m sure I need to add a few more). Then I remember: this is the last week to turn in my intent to home school letter without paying a penalty.  I move with a bit more alacrity.

I print the form, fill it out and search the house for proof that I have a high school diploma. Lacking evidence of finishing high school, I grab my college diploma and hope a copy of that will suffice. The documents gathered, I tell A and B to put on real clothes for the first time that day. They grumble a bit about having to relinquish their pajamas, but subside when I remind them that it’s 2 pm, well past the time for PJs.

I combine the trip to the school board with a trip to the grocery store and by 4 in the afternoon feel like maybe I have actually accomplished something for the day. K makes one more feeble attempt to have a picnic, but her timing is poor: like her sisters, she chooses the moment when I am unpacking the groceries to ask for something. Coming on the heels of A’s request for a popsicle and B’s request for fruit, K's request for a picnic is not well received. I want nothing more than to get the groceries put away and sit for a moment. So I throw popsicles to everyone and sit while I eat mine.

An hour later, we’re in the van taking A to a dance rehearsal. On our way home, K says to me in a small voice, “Are we ever going to have a picnic?” Her voice is quiet, her tone gentle.  There is not the slightest hint of a whine.  My heart breaks. The poor child had been waiting all day long for me to help her have a picnic.  I have failed miserably. I've been selfish, distracted, busy.  Too busy for a picnic?  What kind of mom am I?

Rain is threatening and our dinner of eggplant parmigiana isn’t particularly conducive to dining al fresco. So I offer a meager substitute: an indoor picnic in the living room.  K does not complain.  She gets to work laying out a blanket, assigning positions to our family around it.  We eat dinner and she is mollified, if not satisfied.

And Tuesday morning? Coffee. Clothing. Picnic at the Park.  Followed by Las Paletas to further rectify my failings the day before.  Better late than never, I suppose.

FOURTEEN

:the number of years I've been wed

Last year, I wrote an anniversary post for J.  Months after the fact, he shared with me that he bookmarked the post and went back to it and read it when he needed a pick-me-up.  It made me feel honored that my words would touch him in this way - and put a ton of pressure on me for this year's post!

In honor of the kitchen renovation that has consumed our time, our home and our budget for the past four or so months (including planning time), I thought I would use some specific examples from the kitchen that show you why I still love J fourteen years later.

1) The Decision - The decision to renovate our kitchen is itself a measure of how much J loves me.  About a year ago, we considered moving.  We had even found a house we liked and made an offer.  When that fell through, we looked at other homes in our neighborhood, but we didn't find anything that was exactly what we wanted.  You'll notice that I said we looked at other homes "in our neighborhood."  That's because I adore our neighborhood and have no desire to move.  J, on the other hand, would move to the suburbs in the blink of an eye were it not for his wife's entrenched desire to live in a neighborhood, not a subdivision.  So when we didn't find the perfect home in our neighborhood, J floated the idea of looking in a neighboring county.  With great hesitancy I agreed to at least look at a few online.  Ultimately, we decided to stay where we are - and renovate our kitchen.  J is gracious and would never say it, but were I not so in love with this part of town, I'm sure he would have found a way to move instead of living through a renovation.

2) The Plan - Once we decided to renovate, we had to figure out exactly how to make our kitchen functional. This was no small task in a kitchen with five doorways.  After months of polling friends who visited, J was the one who insisted we needed help.  He called one design firm and set up a meeting.  When that one didn't work out, he encouraged me to meet with someone else and try to find the right fit.  I did and I am so thankful that he persisted in this.  We needed a full blown plan.  We needed a blueprint to work from.  And my analytical husband knew this from the start. 

3) Crisis - No renovation goes exactly according to plan, no matter how much help you have in crafting the plan.  In our case, we found the unpleasant surprise on Day 2 that an HVAC vent was running through the wall that we planned to cut for a pass through.  This revelation came close on the heels of other bad news regarding the stove (more on that later), but J didn't let the HVAC crisis get to him.  He's good in a crisis, whether it's a crisis with our home, our children or something else.  As we head into the teenage years, I'm sure I'll come to value this trait even more.

4) The Process - There are thousands of big and small decisions that go into a kitchen renovation.  I don't think it's possible to make this many decisions without some conflict.  I remember my frustration boiling over at one point when J wanted to cross examine me on a choice I'd made (I have no idea what the choice actually was - I just remember my frustration) and I told him that I felt like our kitchen renovation was somewhat analogous to our process for buying a flat screen TV.  With the TV, J was the one who cared the most.  So I deferred.  I told him that I wanted the 42" but I didn't complain when he bought the 46."  I wanted the same deference on the kitchen.  J didn't cease to have an opinion after that conversation, but he did defer to me on many, many decisions.  Such as...

5) The Colors - We're several days (a week?) into the renovation when I realize that I haven't picked a color for the hallway.  B has picked the color for her room and we've agreed to a shade of blue for the kitchen.  So what is the perfect color to transition one from Secure Blue to Poseidon Turquoise?  I called J as I stood with the ring of Sherwin Williams colors in my hand.  "Do you care what color I paint the back hallway?"  "What? No.  Just pick one.  Whatever you think is fine."  "OK!  Thanks!"  In case you're wondering, Lily Yellow is the perfect transition color.

 6) Trust - I found out a few things about J over the course of this renovation.  One important thing:  he can't visualize anything.  So every time I suggested something, he would ask, "Can you show me a picture?"  Well, no, I can't show you a photograph of the image I have in my head.  So at some point, he just had to trust me.  One such case was the desk area.  I really wanted a different countertop material to distinguish this area from the main kitchen area.  J couldn't visualize it, but he let me go with the New Venetian that I wanted.  And it looks great:

7) Encouragement - While J is the numbers guy in the family, he has encouraged me throughout this renovation to not compromise solely for the sake of cost.  The sink in our old kitchen was a divided sink that wouldn't hold a soaking 9 x 13 pan in any configuration.  I wanted to replace it with an apron front sink.  Then I priced them.  Have you?  Well, they cost about ten times the cost of a regular stainless steel sink (I am not exaggerating - ten times!).  I came home from the store resigned to getting a plain divided sink.  But I really didn't want a stainless steel sink.  J wasn't willing to give up so quickly.  He looked online and found the perfect compromise:  a large basin sink that wasn't apron front and was half the cost of the apron front.  And every time I use this huge, beautiful sink, I am thankful that he encouraged me to get it.

8) Honed - While J encouraged me not to compromise on the choices we made solely for the sake of cost, there were certainly times when we needed to compromise with each other.  I'm not a fan of granite countertops.  The high sheen makes me feel like I'm in a cold, formal and uninviting place - pretty much the exact opposite of how I want my kitchen to feel.  J wanted granite.  I wanted soapstone.  He could care less about how shiny the counters are.  He just wanted granite.  The compromise here?  Honed granite countertops instead of polished ones. 

9) Appliances - And then there were the decisions that J made so that I wouldn't have to make them.  He cared more about the appliances than I did, so he offered to take the lead on this.  Unfortunately, the first round didn't go well.  We agreed on a stove he'd found and only after it arrived did we realize it was the wrong kind.  We debated whether to just use it anyway or get the kind the kitchen was designed to have.  The clincher in our decision to ignore the budget and correct our mistake was when J asked me, "If we keep this stove, will you cringe a little every time you look at it?"  Me, hesitantly, "Yeah, probably."  J:  "Me, too.  Let's just get another stove."

10) Splurges - We have a pot filler in our kitchen.  Until a few months ago, when I was trapped on the sofa recovering from surgery and watching lots of HGTV, I had no idea what a pot filler even was.  Now I own one.  This was purely J's idea and I must admit that I love it.  It uses the space behind the stove nicely and I love not having to carry a pot of sloshing water from the sink to the stove.  Instead, I can fill it right on the burner.  This definitely didn't fall into the necessity category and I love that J wants to shower me with gifts, even during a kitchen renovation.

11) Side Project - In the midst of a kitchen renovation, we decided to finish B's room a bit more as well by painting it the colors she wanted and getting her a loft bed.  The bed had to be assembled and I have the spatial concept skills of a newborn.  That pretty much left the task to him.  I was his assistant, handing him screws, pieces of wood, etc.  And then it came time to turn the bed over.  Ummm.... the ceiling was too low.  I'm still not sure exactly how we managed it, but I followed J's instructions, we maneuvered the bed around and B now has her very own loft - complete with sleeping and reading areas, much to her delight.

12) Contractors - As we neared the end of the renovation, it was increasingly tiring to have contractors in and out of our house.  The pantry was up, the shelves were in, but the walls had not been painted.  At this point, I didn't care.  It's a pantry, who's going to see it?  But he really thought it needed to be done.  So I called in the final set of contractors...

 K and I spent the morning painting it.  J was right.  It looks far more finished.  And K loved helping me.

13) Surprise - For our wedding, J and I received a hand made ceramic tile from my pottery teacher at Vanderbilt.  When she gave it to us, she said, "Maybe one day you'll have your own home and can install it in your kitchen."  Fourteen years ago, that seemed a long way away.  But here we are, years later, renovating our kitchen.  I knew I wanted our kitchen to have blue walls and the colors in the tile fit perfectly.  Then, eight days before our renovation started, J broke the tile.  It was a complete accident and he felt terrible.  A friend suggested we install the tile anyway.  I talked it over with our contractor and we decided to break the tile in a few more places and install it with grout in the cracks.  I dare say I love it more than I would have whole.  It's the perfect reminder that life - and marriage - never go the way you plan.  There will be breaks, cracks, fissures along the way.  And you can choose to mend and celebrate them or you can try to hide them.  I'm thankful to Jason for the surprise gift of brokenness that adorns our kitchen, the very heart of our home.

14) Anniversary - I'm thankful to be celebrating another year married to J.  He's not perfect, but neither am I, so that works out well.  He compensates for my weaknesses, listens to my desires, meets my needs both spoken and unspoken.  And he'll get to spend many more years eating the food I prepare in this kitchen...

J, thanks for living with me, loving me and caring for me - through a kitchen renovation and for the last fourteen years.

TEAM

4 : a number of persons associated together in work or activity

Yesterday on our drive back from the lake, we were listening to a song from Glee.  It was a song from the second half of the season and as I sang along with it, I started thinking about one thing that made me enjoy this show:  its use of all cast members, not just the stars.  At the start of the season, there was a lot of focus on Finn, Rachel and Mr. Schuester.  But those characters simply laid the foundation for what was to come during the second half of the season:  solos by Quinn, Artie, Mercedes, Puck and other cast members that we had come to know.

The girls were talking in the back of the van and munching on snacks to satisfy their post-lake swimming, so I had some time to think about this.  I love that Glee isn't just about showcasing the great vocal talents of one or two actors.  Instead, it uses the strengths of the entire cast.  In fact, this was a key part of the plot from the first season: making a group of misfits more than a collection of individuals.  Making them into a team.

Great, but how can I apply this to my own life?  The most obvious "team" that I am a part of is my family and listening to Kurt hit the high notes in a Madonna song made me wonder how to help our family function better as a team.  For good or ill, my daughters are growing up.  They are developing their own preferences, their own interests, their own strengths.  So how do I help them use the skills, interest and gifts that they have to make our family work better as a team?

J and I are already a pretty good team.  There are things he's good at (managing the family finances) and things I'm good at (feeding our family), so we split those tasks according to our gifts.  Then there are things that neither of us are very good at (housecleaning, yard work), so we try to split those undesirable tasks fairly evenly.  We've done a good job of fulfilling the first half of the season:  we've laid the ground work for a family that works together, supports each other and has fun reaching a common goal.  But we don't want to be the stars who hog the spotlight in our family.

The second half of the season is fast approaching - and in some ways is already here.  What specific gifts do A, B and K have that can and should be used in the running of our family?  What gifts do they want to use in our family and what gifts are more appropriately used to serve those outside our family?  What family chores are J and I carrying that should be handed over to one of the girls - maybe not a chore that they will love to do, but one that needs to be done?  Because part of being on a team is doing not just what you're best at, but what needs most to be done.

Difficult questions.  I'm not sure I have a lot of answers.  I think homeschooling A next year will help me see and identify a few of her gifts that can be used within our family unit.  We plan to do a lot of cooking and baking together (practical math, my friends), so we may find this is something she wants more ownership of.  B is a great problem solver.  She's not bound by conventional thinking, so she can see new ways to get to a desired outcome.  What decisions does our family need to make where it might be helpful to hear B's ideas?  And K?  She's the youngest, at just six years old.  But her excitement about finishing our kitchen in order to have a party has made it clear that she is a natural hostess.  So I'll definitely incorporate her ideas and give her jobs relating to the "We Have a Kitchen!" Party (tentatively planned for Labor Day weekend, mark your calendars).

These are just my initial ideas, but I do want my daughters to begin to use their gifts in the safety of our family, so that they know how to best use their gifts.  I want them to use their voices in our family, so that they see the difference their voices can make.  I want them to feel equipped to excel in their positions on teams.  I want them to leave our home and enter the world seeing themselves not just as a part of the team that is our family, but the team that is the community, the church, the world at large.  No small task.

CAMP

d : a place usually in the country for recreation or instruction often during the summer

Yesterday, I drove A to her very first sleepover camp.  I've known about this camp for years because our former church supports it.  Each year, I would see videos of footage from camp and think, "I can't wait to send my daughters there!"  And then the years flew by.  Last year, I realized A was old enough for this camp.  We discussed sending her, but I decided she just wasn't independent enough to be gone from us for four nights and five days.  She's certainly been gone from home that long (many times), but only at the home of a relative.  I wasn't convinced she could handle sunscreen application and other mundane daily activities without our assistance and reminders.  So we set a few goals to get her ready to attend this year.  She gladly complied (she's willing to be independent if there's a large enough incentive) and we signed her up a few months ago.

A was excited to sign up to attend camp, but has been nervous for the last few weeks as camp drew nearer.  One night, she tearfully shared some of her fears:  "How will I know where the cafeteria is?"  "What about restrooms?"  "What if I'm late for something?"  My little rule follower wanted to know and understand in advance exactly what was expected of her.  J and I patiently explained that none of the campers would know these things, so everyone would be told when they arrived.  And we reminded her that one of her friends from school would be in her cabin with her.  They had intentionally signed up for the same session so that they would each have a friend there.  That calmed her a bit, but she continued to be nervous leading up to camp.

Then, the night before camp, the mom of A's friend mentioned in an e-mail that she'd had a call the week prior from a camp staff person.  I received no such call.  This ignited all of my own fears: "What if they don't have her registration? (Never mind that they gladly accepted our payment.)"  "What time am I supposed to arrive?  I can't find it anywhere on the website!"  "What if she has a horrible time?"  So I did what any sane person would do: I stayed awake until well after midnight reading a book to distract myself.  This seemed like a good coping mechanism at the time, but certainly contributed to my fatigue yesterday after driving three hours to camp and back.

On the drive through scenic Kentucky, I admitted to A that I was nervous, too.  B had been telling A that it was clear she was nervous because she kept laughing.  (Aren't sisters great?)  So I wanted A to know she wasn't alone.  Interestingly, once I admitted my own nervousness, A started comforting me.  She reminded me that she's been away from home before.  She reminded me that this is a camp we can trust.  Things that I needed to hear, even if I stayed nervous for the remainder of the ride.

Drop off at camp went fine.  When we pulled up, an acquaintance was arriving with his daughters and two campers from the ministry where he works.  Turns out he's the pastor for the week.  He introduced his daughter to mine.  A's friend arrived almost exactly when we did.  We got them checked in.  A counselor walked us to their cabin.  And A was fine.  We got her settled in.  B got jealous and wanted to stay.  K didn't want to leave A's upper bunk.  A said it was OK for us to go.  I snapped two quick pics of her and we were off.

Our family wrote letters to A for her to open each day while she's at camp.  In one my letters to her, I told her how proud I am of her.  I am proud of her, but also in awe that she is old enough to go to camp all alone for five days.  I hope she's having a great time.  Our family misses her: K said tonight, "Poor A.  She's not living with our family this week."  But I suppose it's just a foretaste of many moments to come:  future camps, college, marriage.  I'm not ready for any of those things.  But I suppose that's why God gives us grace for the moment.  Because A will be ready for all of those things in due time.  And she'll pull me along with her, proud of her, awed by her, sad to watch her go.

HAPPY

3 a : enjoying or characterized by well-being and contentment

Today, a friend sent me and several other women a link to an article in New York Magazine about parenting.  This friend doesn't have children, but said in her e-mail that she was interested to hear what we thought since the article seemed to be the opposite of how most of her friends feel about parenting.  It's a fairly lengthy article, but it's worth reading if you have a few moments.  I think I've read excerpts of this article elsewhere (maybe I heard about it on NPR?), so its content wasn't particularly shocking.  Essentially it shares the results from various studies that show parenting doesn't make you happier.  As someone who swore in high school that I would never have children, it made me stop and think about why I chose to have not one, but three, children and how I feel like they've affected my life - and quality of life.

Am I happier now than I was eleven years ago (pre-parenthood)?  For WordGirl, the easiest way to answer this question is to define "happy:" Merriam Webster's first definition of happy is "favored by luck or fortune."  Um, OK.  Not inspiring me.  Definition #2?  "Nobly fitting, effective or well adapted?"  That certainly doesn't define my parenting.  Third time's a charm?  "Enjoying or characterized by well-being and contentment."  There's something I can work with.

Am I more content than before?  Is my life characterized by a more general state of well-being?  The answers are yes, but the reasons behind those answers are far more complex.  Am I happier because I am a mother?  While my daughters have changed my life in many ways, I'm not sure that parenting has brought about a state of well-being.  If anything, I constantly question my choices as a mother, I frequently lament the ways I fail them, I strive to be a better role model and guide for them.  So I wouldn't say that parenting itself has brought about well-being for my soul.  On the surface, I was probably more content before children, if more empty.

Am I happier instead because of what I've experienced over the past decade?  Without children, I wouldn't have been forced to quit work for a while, mourn its absence in my life, find a hitherto unknown love of writing and cease to even desire a traditional career.  Who knows what my career path might have looked like without children?  I had a well-established, well-paying job where I excelled before having children.  I never loved my job, but I felt competent and confident doing it.  That might have been enough to keep me going in that direction had I not needed to stay home with A and B when J was working 60-70 hours/week.  I wouldn't trade those experiences and the self-awareness I've gained for a life free of dirty diapers, potty training and strong, independent minded daughters.

Am I happier now because I am a person of faith and wasn't before?  I think this is highly likely.  I'm definitely a different person than I was before.  I'm kinder, gentler, more thoughtful, less selfish.  (Aren't you glad you didn't know me then?)  I'm more apt to think of others than I used to, though I still fail often.  I don't like to ponder who I would be had I not taken a step of faith ten years ago, had I not taken many steps since to better understand my faith, my God, myself.  My faith has anchored me and freed me at the same time.

Am I happier because I have a deeper knowledge of myself than I did before children?  This might be the greatest gift my daughters have given me - to help me, push me and inspire me to understand myself better and be more truly who I am meant to be.  Seeing them use their innate gifts so effortlessly makes me want to jettison the toxic cargo I've carried for much of my life.  Cargo that tells me who I can and can't be.  Cargo that tells me who I should and shouldn't be.  They make me want to simply be me.  This is a worthy goal:  last week, my counselor encouraged me to not see our purpose together as me "getting better" but to instead see it as an effort to gain more of myself.  Because when I have more of myself, I can give more of myself - to God, to others, to my daughters.

Are my daughters work?  Definitely.  Do they push me beyond what I think are my limits?  Every day.  Do I feel constantly, persistently happy?  Not really.  But I am learning to be more content.  They are teaching me things worth knowing, like how to be more authentically the person I am meant to be.  And that does make me happy.