It's rather mediocre not to even write anything new, actually.

Posted by in Everyday | 2 Comments

I am at that point where there are so many small things going on in our lives, but no big ones, so it feels silly to update the blog. But when I start getting emails of “Are you alive?” I know I need to log on and give a hearty wave.

This week has been up and down. Up with the realtor meeting, down when I face the never ending work of keeping the house presentable. Up with Ella being so well mannered and excited at the dentist (she opened wide, never flinched, got a full cleaning and got to take home pocketfuls of prizes for being such an awesome patient) and down with Alice getting four molars at once, and the resulting sleep issues. Up with Tom’s new job finally kicking in, but down with the added load it brings me, physically and emotionally. His job is not a low-stress one. So, instead of writing something new, I’m pulling a out one of my 56 unfinished drafts from the last year, which rings very true for this week.

*

Today Tom asked me how I was feeling, and I shrugged. “Mediocre.” Maybe one of the hardest things for me about being a stay at home mom, is that it is rare that someone recognizes me as the best at something. That sounds shallow, but when I was working, and going to school, and crafting regularly, there were opportunities to really excel. A poem would get great feedback in a workshop,¬† a big project I had been working on for months in the office would launch, or someone would rave about something I had made – the short term effort paid off in tangible ways, and I could walk around for a while feeling like I was really, really good at something.

Being a mom has it’s rewards, but it’s a long term venture. Yes, I love hearing “Mom, you are my best friend. Even if you are my mom,” but that isn’t what I am here for. I am here to raise happy, healthy, productive people, to make a positive impact on the world after I am gone. It’s a job that I take on happily and with great passion, but there are nights where¬† I stand in my kitchen, assessing the mess, wishing bedtime had went easier, knowing I yelled too much over silly things during the day, worrying that if I could just do one more thing (go back to vegetarianism, make some money on the side, finish the letter to my grandma, do more volunteer work) that I could show them the right way to live… And it is then that I miss that instant, visible gratification that I am good at this. I need a big shiney golden star for me to cram into Doubt’s mouth.

All of this sounds like a ploy for compliments, but it’s not. I know that the solution is to stop looking for outward validation, but rather to find a place inside me that is centered enough to accept myself as I come, but gah, that is a lot harder than it sounds. This week I am failing, or rather, floundering at it. You know, I am doing it in a very mediocre fashion. Yay me, or something.

2 Responses to It's rather mediocre not to even write anything new, actually.

  1. Michelle Y says:

    oh you put into words perfectly how i feel at least once a week. i like your solution though…i’ve never really taken the time to identify the “problem” (needing outside validation), but you’re so right.

    that’ll give me something to think about while i eat dinner and watch my children fling the beautiful pizza i painstakingly assembled all over our kitchen.

  2. Denice says:

    How odd that you wrote about this today. I’ve been thinking about being ‘enough.’ Not being perfect, but being what and who I need. Who my kids and husband and family need. I will never have a house that’s ready for a magazine shoot at a moment’s notice. My dinners are only half edible, half of the time. Not too impressive.

    But I just helped to save my sister’s life. And it was incredible. Empowering. Life affirming. And my kids are already commenting (even at 4 and 2 1/2) that I’m happier and more fun.

    So I hope you find what you’re looking for. Inside yourself.

    (And I think you’re awesome, even though it’s not you affirming yourself.

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