Walking home from my run with a friend this morning, she surprised me with the statement "You probably have no idea how jealous I am of you sometimes." I was genuinely caught off guard, but a few more sentences gave me a view of my life, from her perspective, that made a lot of sense. My husband's irregular paycheck, our general lack of structure, and the subtle but constant pressure on me to contribute more financially to the household was desirable to her. She saw in my life the "edge" that was missing in her own beautiful but unsatisfying "cage." She missed the spark, even as I missed the predictable comfort. Dissatisfied. Restless. Hungry for something different.

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Gracefully, Grumpily, or Gleefully ... what's your style?

My boys both started school last week, one of them for the first time.  While there was a wee bit of clinging and a few tears, their transition from summer in the country to school in the city has been an amazingly calm one.  My two-year-old couldn't wait to start "my tool" and ran off into his classroom on day one without a backward glance!  For the most part, my kids handle change with aplomb and excitement.  We do a little prep if there's a big change coming, but don't make a huge deal out of it, and I'm very thankful that works for us.  Most kids are remarkably adaptable, and learn to accept things, especially those completely outside their control. 

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Minimizing the effects of those BIG projects.

Yesterday I completed the longest run of my life, covering 15 miles before I collapsed, sweaty and pleased, into a pile that I hardly moved from for the rest of the day.  I noticed near the end of the run that my fingertips were getting a bit numb.

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I've always had a thing for perfection, or at least as long as I can remember. Not necessarily achieving or creating it, but maintaining the illusion of it. As long as things appeared put together, clean, creative, tidy, then I considered things perfect. Laboring over school essays, staying up late to frame art projects, using quarts of white-out and adding extra illustrations, taking on the roles of decorator, organizer, designer, finisher, planner ... the list is endless. The pursuit of perfection has been my downfall many times, my nemesis often, and my claim to fame never.

It really started to fall apart when I got married. Compromise, blending, sharing, and cooperating all took a large bite out of MY image of perfection, but I fought it valiantly for awhile, including misguided attempts to “perfect” my husband! Then came my first pregnancy, and something clicked. Perhaps something broke actually, as my body grew larger, and I could do nothing but experience the changes from almost a bystanders point of view. I had no control over it, I disliked how I looked and felt, and then I had a flash of understanding that had escaped me until I was locked into those 9 long months. The experience was the important part, not the image, or really even the goal. Simply taking every situation and change thrown my way, and feeling it to my core. That's my current definition of perfection.

As parents, we suddenly have this addition to our image, our children, that we feel reflects directly on us, and to a huge degree it does. But if we tie our kids too closely to us, and expect too much, we set them (and us) up for many disappointments and arguments. Setting expectations of them is critical, and good, but beware of setting them too high. We often raise our self-expectations too when the kids come along. In addition to being successful at our jobs and relationships, we now have to be successful parents and caregivers to small needy bundles of life. We strive for alpha-mom or super-dad status, add huge new chunks of responsibility without shedding many old ones, and feel guilty when we miss out or fail in some way. Which we do all the time! Can we accept it and move on?

There are no perfect parents. None. Great ones perhaps, some that might appear nearly perfect, but they aren't. Every parent misses things, forgets things, loses things, and gets angry, careless, and tired. We ALL do! We are a work in progress every bit as much as our kids are ... we learn daily how to be their parents just as they learn to be our best kids! Perfection in life is NOT about image, appearances, achievements, or bank balances. It's about doing the best we can with what we have, and measuring success by the peace in our hearts and the growth in our ability to enjoy absolutely everything.  Living fully: that's perfection. Trying to live perfectly? That's madness!

In the interest of sharing imperfections, that's me with mutant potato in the photo above, posing for my husband. I dislike the photo intensely, but that was how I felt that day!

Making the most of ours ...

I thought one day was really one day,
One day is a fun day.
I like one day.
One day makes another.
Because when I think about one day
there are a lot of days in my heart.
And that makes a lot of days.
Amy , age 8 (reprinted by permission)

I discovered the poem above on a friend’s blog last week, in the midst of a hectic and packed scramble. Her daughter’s words caught me, helping me briefly find the pause button.

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I spoke the phrase "I'm a runner" for the first time this morning, and the emotional jolt that accompanied the statement made me realize that I truly was one, and proud of it! I started with painful jog-walks in January of 2007, and ran my first half-marathon last Saturday. Running has gradually become a habit, a joy, and very nearly an addiction. I'm a runner, and while I'm not likely to turn pro or win any big races, I'm proud to label myself as one.

Labels are complicated, troublesome, and often dangerous things. Slow. Troublemaker. Snobby. Clown. Hyperactive. Controlling. Whether they're valid or not, labels can be extremely limiting at times.

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