Most people flow through life knowing that bad things happen but believing those bad things will never happen to them.  What a blissful existence.

I am scared all the time.  The severity of the fear varies, sometimes its just a shadow kissing the back of my mind in specific moments, other times it consumes every moment of my day.  But I am devoid of the blissful ignorance.  Bad things happen to good people.  They happen to bad people.  They happen to everyone.  I could get shot when I go to Target to buy more diapers.  My husband’s plane could go down.  Someone with guns could force their way into Addie’s school.  I could have a heart attack.  Or a stroke.  William could climb out of his crib and fall just the wrong way on his neck.

Are these things likely? No.  But they’re possible, my life experiences have taught me that much.  Be aware, look for alternate exits, watch the way that guy reaches into his jacket and think about what I’ll do if armed assailants attack the mall while I’m there with my babies.

I like being happy and focusing on my amazing life.  Because it is amazing.  I have the dream life.  And I love to smile and give compliments to strangers on the street.  I teach my kids that bullies just haven’t been taught how to be kind and that their actions and friendship could teach that lesson.  I believe that in general, people are good.

But I’m still so afraid.

But I have found the best therapy I have ever had.  Yoga.  Most people who know that I have started to practice yoga think that its just a workout, or something that Lone Tree moms without jobs do.  It seems fitting that I would slide into my yoga pants and pop on my aviators and have some “me time.”

But it is so much more than that. There are countless reasons why it has become my healing hour, my centering prayer and my calming breath.  But the most important lesson I have learned in my short time practicing yoga is this: Just Be.  What will be, will be.  I have no control over the world…the people who could hurt me or my family don’t seek out the fearful victims, they just find victims.  I have no control.  Logical thought assumes the lack of control would incite more fear, not less.  But its not the fact that I cannot change anything, its the acceptance that living in fear changes nothing.

I cannot exert control over relationships that scare me by dictating what I want to happen in the future.

I cannot keep my kids from having experiences because I’m afraid of something happening to them.

I can sit back and compliment strangers and teach my kids kindness and lift my face to the sun and enjoy the warmth.  And I intend to be more intentional about trying, about silencing that whisper of fear that lives in the pit of my stomach.  And I can do it.

What will be will be.  And it will most likely be awesome.

Someone told me a story recently about a woman who was never told as a child that she was pretty.  She wasn’t allowed to have a long ponytail lest it keep her from doing other things where it would get in the way.  It wasn’t that she was deprived of confidence or love; she was told how capable she was and that she could accomplish anything she put her mind to.  Pretty just wasn’t important.

Is that true? Is it healthier for our girls if we don’t let them know that they’re pretty?

I make a point every single day of telling Addie the things I love the most about her.  Sometimes we talk about her kindness and ability to make friends with everyone everywhere she goes.  Sometimes its her sense of humor or her sweetness or how she cares about how others feel.  She is constantly hearing, “You’re so smart Goose!” “Oh my goodness, what an interesting idea Addie!” and “What a beautiful little girl.” Is one of those things not like the others?

I don’t think so.  It’s definitely not essential to bolster Addie’s awareness that she is a beautiful girl, but I can’t find the down side.  As often as she hears anyone talk about her pretty blue eyes or her blonde curly hair she is regaled with people’s surprise at her wit and intelligence at three years old.  Yes, she knows she is pretty.  But she also knows that if she wants to she can be a “rocket driver” or she can do “keyate” (karate) or, if she really wants to, she can be a princess.

It is my mission to make sure that my daughter has healthy confidence.  I want her to have not only a positive but a realistic view of herself as she grows older.  Knowing she’s pretty isn’t going to keep her from being class president or from scoring a goal on the soccer field.  But it just might make her feel good when she catches a glimpse of those endless eyelashes as she brushes her teeth.  And more importantly, when other people start to notice and comment on how she looks, she won’t be blindsighted that appearance actually means something in this world.  But she will know that it doesn’t mean everything.

So I will keep telling her what a sweet little face she has, but I’ll be sure to keep pictures like this around to keep her feet on the ground!

I think that the best parents are the ones who can admit that they have room to improve.  I feel like I’m much better at this job when I can step back and say, “wow, I really coulda handled THAT better” rather than patting myself on the back for my awesome display of parenting skills.

What do you think? Is it healthier to think you’re an omniscient superparent or recognizing the missteps you make along the way?

Do you ever have those moments if you hear a phrase one more time your head might explode?  Here’s mine:

“Hey Mom?…”

Innocent right? I love the little tiny voice that is saying it.  I love that Addison loves to talk to me and knows that she can ask me questions.  She knows that I take the time to give her a real, thoughtful answer and I never ‘baby them down’, if she asks me why our voices are different, I tell her about how vocal chords work.  And she gets it.

But when the questions come without any thinking behind them – like bullets – incessant with barely a breath between each “hey mom? hey mom? hey mom? hey mom? hey mom? hey mom? hey mom?” On and on and on.

In those moments I have to close my eyes and breathe.  And then I ask Addie to PLEASE think about her questions before she asks them.  She listens and it sticks for a couple of days but then she returns to being the three and a half year old she is and the bullets start right back up again.  But then she asks me why we don’t have two legs on one side and I can’t help but smile.  How could I resist answering a question like that?

What an imagination!

One day, Addie and I went to the pool with my sister, my nephew and the kids my sister takes care of.  We played, we swam, we basked in the warm sunlight with a panoramic view of snow covered Rocky Mountains across the valley.  At lunch time I gave Addie her 10 minute warning to get out of the pool.  Then 5.  Then 2.  Then it was time to get out.

She crossed her arms.  “No.”

I gave her another chance.  Her response? “NO!”

Okay, “Addie, if you don’t get out of the pool you’re going to lose your dress up dresses for three days.”

She screamed, “I’M NOT GETTING OUT!”

I was already dressed so my wonderful big sister volunteered to wade into the baby pool and get my loving daughter for me.  As soon as she touched me she started kicking and screaming and deperately trying to get out of my arms.  I had her wrapped in the towel and walked into the clubhouse away from all the wide, prying eyes around the pool to have one of our calm down talks.  Through the building and out the back door we went, my patience pooling in every damp step left behind.  By the time we got outside my go-to parenting method of quiet questions and deep breaths had been drowned out by Addie’s frantic screeching and scratching up and down my arms and across my face.

I wrapped my hands around her arms only tight enough to keep them by her sides, I put my face level with hers and told her she had to stop right now.  Volume increased – for both of us.  The more frantic she became, the less controlled I felt.  Pretty soon, my ususal calm and quiet voice was shaking with anger and tears.  After threatning to take some other toy away, call her father and never take her swimming again she leaned forward and sunk her teeth into my upper arm.  And pulled.

I tucked her under my arm, walked back to the pool area and gathered our things.  While Addie screamed and squirmed in my arms I apologized to my sister and walked to the car.  What followed were long minutes of Addie fighting my putting her in her carseat, unbuckling her seat belt and biting the chest piece of her restraints.  We were both yelling and crying at this point, all control was lost.  She was vicious and I sobbed asking her why she was so mean.

I have never felt like a worse parent.

Halfway down the mountain I had an epiphany: This wasn’t her fault.  I was not being a good parent to her.  It is MY job to teach her how to act in these situations and all I had done was reiterate to her that anger and harshness was the right way to react.  I felt like a failure.

So in my calmest voice I asked her if she wanted to pull over and calm down together.  “Yes mama” she wimpered.  I pulled into Red Rocks national park and parked the car.  After pulling her into my lap and wiping her tears I apologozed to her for the way I acted.  I told her how much I love her and that mommies shouldn’t lose their tempers with their babies.  She apologized to me and we talked about what went wrong.

In that moment I knew that I could never react in anger again.  No matter how justified I feel or how horrible she is acting: it is MY job to show her the right path.

So every time she explodes and tells me how much she wants a different family, I hug her and tell her how much I love her.  I stroke her hair and tell her how much I care about how she feels and that I need her to calm down so I can understand. And she does.  And then we talk.

In the moments when it is the most difficult to swallow my pride and frustration, I do it because I know that as she grows up she will know to respond to others with love and a calm heart.  She will not be filled with rage and sadness.  She will be all those things because her mom and dad have made the choice to tackle these lessons now rather than teach her to react with anger and then, 1o years later, wonder why she is such an angry, uncooperative teenager.

Parenting is hard.  And I know its only going to get harder.  But nothing could EVER be as wonderful as knowing that we are setting down a strong foundation for the rest of Addison’s life.  And that makes it ALL okay.

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My life is perfect. I’m so lucky.

I have heard this from numerous people in my life.  Sometimes its said in passing – in jest – sometimes not, but it feels the same every time I hear it.

From the outside it looks like Chris and I lead a charmed existence; we buy what we want, we have a lovely home, we travel when and where we choose. Our daughter is happy and healthy, very smart and well behaved. We love each other and have exceptional communication and truly enjoy spending time with one another.

Looks pretty swell doesn’t it? Looking in from the outside would be pretty irritating, I think, on those days when things just refuse to go your way, when babies cry or husbands ignore; when bills pile up and the garage door won’t close.  On those days it can be infuriating to see someone else’s life floating along when yours feels heavy.

But you don’t see everything.

The truth is this:  I have a perfect life.

But not for the reasons most people assume.  My life is fantastic because I choose for it to be fantastic.  My life is no more blessed than anyone else’s, I just decide every single day, in almost every single moment to find the positive.  Let me break it down for you:

We have a lovely home because it means a lot to us to live in a comfortable, beautiful setting.  I work hard at maintaining this environment, making, sewing and redesigning things,  and it makes an impact on our everyday sentiment when we love our space.  The home itself isn’t fantastic: it’s old, surfaces refuse to feel clean, one neighbor is loud, one cooks smelly food and the one below us smokes and makes our apartment smell like an ash tray.  We’re sick and tired of renting.  But we never sit back and complain about the negatives that could bring us down. Instead, we choose to focus on our beautiful oasis inside the old furniture factory with comfy couches and ambient lighting.  We choose to focus on how much we love our family time rather than the train charging by outside our window.  We have decided to love this place.

How easy would it be for you to go away for a week of work with a set amount of money, work for 120 hours in a seven day period and then come home with less money than you left home with?  Not too good, I surmise.  That happens to us, and not just once.  Our unconventional life looks glamourous and fun but the majority of people out there would crack and disintegrate under the pressures in our life.  We have worked HARD for eight years managing schedules and finances and keeping a constant and open line of communication so we don’t crumble like other families have in this lifestyle.  You want to be a poker player? It’s a lot harder than it looks.  But we can do it because we have a strong foundation of trust and understanding.  We focus on not only the next big win, but all of the small victories in between.

We work hard to be so happy.  And its worth the effort, every single day.  When parenting is hard we focus on learning the lesson with Addie so we’re a better family unit in the end.  We love being her parents and helping her build the foundation that will serve her for the rest of her life.  Every small battle will make an impact on who she becomes and that is incredible.  Seeing her awesome development makes every fit, every tear, every whine worth it.

I could go on for days but it all boils down to the same point:

I am happy because I decide to be happy.

Living with the intention of honesty, kindness, understanding and gratefulness is a very satisfying way to work through my life. If I didn’t make these things my priority and I started to focus on the “not so great” parts of my life I would be stressed, angry, sad and probably pretty dang sassy – not in a good way.

So look in on my world from the outside and see what you see, I can’t change anyone’s perception.  But when I get frustrated with the misconceptions I can understand where they’re coming from. I can admit that the contentedness I choose then shows to the world and it makes our life look easy.  I can’t be mad that people think our life is easy, that our blessings are born from luck, not hard work.  I can only hope that those people will start to see the positives in their own lives as well.  That they will see the positives of being positive and pass it along.

Just make a decision to see your own glass in a new light – fill that baby up!

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