Earlier today, I posted here about one of my "everyday struggles" of parenthood, which is a recurring theme here. After that, I spent quite a bit of time reading some outstanding essay contest submissions for a children's hospital fundraiser--essays by parents of special needs children, parents of sick children, and parents of dead children. And I felt like an asshole.
I am blessed with two healthy, fully functioning, mostly happy kids. So much of being a parent is rewarding and full of warm fuzzies, yet most of what I write here makes it sound like an incredible chore. I don't want to sound like a whiner, because I know that my family has got it good. We are the lucky ones.
When I write about the challenges and frustrations, it's not because they dominate; it's because they are the things I need to process and work through, and writing about them and hearing your feedback helps me do that. When I experience one of those wonderful parenting moments in which I'm overwhelmed with love and happiness for my children, it's not complicated. I can bask in it pretty much solo, except for those we-made-this(?!) moments with my husband. The tough stuff requires some effort, and that's why it comes out here.
So, I hope you don't think I'm a jerk or a complainer. I'm just another parent trying to do the best I can, trying to put together my village.
Tonight, when my sweet little girl in her fuzzy ballerina nightgown rested her head between my cheek and shoulder as I read Charlotte's Web aloud, and my lovable little boy told me he liked it when I put my arm around him as we read, I took a moment to savor the good things and forget about the worries. I'm so very grateful for my life, and I love those little urchins, even when they drive me crazy.