Warning: Proud Mommy Moment

This is from the myspace archives. Dealing with your own internal mess is a hard enough job. Add to that the responsibility of two other little lives, and it is exhausting. It is exhausting physically, mentally, and spiritually. Before I learned to live in a healthier frame of mind, I would get to points when I felt I couldn't go on anymore. I couldn't give anything else. Then, my children would show me different. They kept me going at moments like this . . .

Warning: Proud Mommy Moment
(written November 29, 2006)

I am a strong believer that one of my many jobs as a parent is to help my children become strong and independent adults. So, I started try to teach them in small ways from the time they could follow through with directions. At around 2, they both received responsibilities and had to begin helping to dress themselves in the morning. Of course there are times they get frustrated. Buttons, snaps and zippers are hard for little hands. Forget socks and shoes.

This year, my son entered kindergarten. Now, my son has some slight fine-motor delays which make the getting dressed in the morning tough. Even worse, he's as stubborn as his mother. The snaps on his jeans became a stand-off. But I can't do it for him anymore. What will he do at school when I'm not there? My daughter (also as stubborn as her mother) was not to be outdone by her brother, and decided that her socks would be her stand-off. Every morning, from each of them, I hear "Mommy, I can't do it. You have to." And every morning I reply with what has become my mantra:

"If you feel like you can't, you try harder."

Well, I guess it's true that if you hear something enough, it will sink in. In the morning as usual, I laid out the kids' clothes while they were eating breakfast. As usual, I gathered my clothes while they were putting their things on.

I had my back to the doorway, when I heard little feet in the hall. They stopped, and I heard two little voices say "Mommy?" I braced myself for the usual "I can't do it" battle. I turned to see my daughter lift her foot. It had a sock on it. "I tried harder." My son smiled and said "Me too," as he lifted his shirt to show me that he had snapped his own pants.

I wanted to cry because I was so proud. It's the little things. And they thought I was a crazy woman because I picked them both up and hugged them and kissed them and kept telling them how proud I am of them. It's one morning battle down. Baby steps, but the first steps are the biggest deal.