I Am...

I am a child, inside. I would love it if I could run and play all day, and I often reminisce about the days when I did. I have a terrific imagination. I am a daydreamer, to the extent of forgetting what I am actually supposed to be doing. I didn’t have a lot of boys to play with when I was growing up, so now that I have little boys, I am being introduced to the games they play. I now know how to build a few things with Legos, and I can make excellent train and semi-truck noises. I am still afraid of the dark. I have an occasional temper-tantrum. I don’t like it when things don’t work, and I really don’t like it when someone else can make something work and I cannot. I like naps, and I like them even more when I have my blankie. Simple things like warm cookies and cold milk, and some kind words from a friend are enough to make my entire day. Actually, if my mom says something nice to me, it makes everything better. I am fond of reading children’s books. I like to look at the pictures.

I am a mother. I have carried and given birth to three beautiful children. They are not perfect, but they are perfect to me. I am not perfect either, by the way. My children are full of life and light. They are quirky. They are loud, and sometimes, I am louder. At least the kids come by it honestly. I am fierce when it comes to my children. I would lay down my life for them. I would, however, insist that they face their punishment if punishment were due. I am not willing to fight all of their battles. My children make me weak and strong, all at the same time. Their tears make me feel small and helpless, grasping for something to make it better, but their laughter makes my heart stronger. I am learning from them, every day. I am proud of myself, as their mother. I think I am doing a good job, overall. I think I still have a lot to learn, but I think that nothing happens overnight. I am hoping that someday they will say “thanks” and they will admit, albeit a tough admission, that I was not the “worst mommy in the world.” I am home with my children all day and all night. It’s what I wanted to do, for now, anyway. I can ascertain that the job is not glamorous. It takes a strong will, a strong back, and sometimes, a strong stomach. Motherhood is not a fairytale, but rather, an adventure.

I am a woman. I am tough on my exterior, and a bowl full of noodles inside. I hide my emotions when I need to. I reach a boiling point, and I let them out, usually on the people I love the most. I love wearing high heels, but I find myself with fewer reasons and places to wear them. I am working on becoming more introspective and less judgmental. I am a follower of Jesus Christ. I don’t know where I’d be without my faith. I don’t like trying to prove things, because of that. Why bother with faith if you can prove it? I don’t have a lot of friends. I have a lot of acquaintances, but I find it hard to trust. I realize that is not a good thing. I am a bit of a hypochondriac. I worry about my health. I used to live a lot more recklessly, but now that I have children, I suppose I think it’s important that I am here for them. I am afraid to die. I suppose this is why you can’t have too much faith. I am self-conscious. I am convinced that I am not pretty, and I don’t think that conviction will change. If you catch me looking in the mirror, it is not to admire myself, it is to judge. I fight myself about my weight. I am confident in my knowledge, however. I am a reader, and I actually prefer a book to any television show. I am vulnerable. I know that the wrong words in the right place will break me, but I also know that I probably won’t show it outwardly. I am in love with love. I am convinced that there is a special someone for everyone, and that someone will feel as necessary as oxygen and as comfortable as your oldest pair of jeans. I want to be loved, and I want to be somebody’s world. I think I am. I think I am three peoples’ worlds. I struggle with contentment. I struggle to wrap my mind around life, and the thought that this is “all there is.” I am ashamed to even admit that, because I really do have a lot. It’s just that I pictured so many things: I was going to be a singer at the Metropolitan Opera House, I was going to be a veterinarian, I was going to travel the world and see everything. I have to slow down and appreciate more. I am a great cook; I will eat most anything I make. See the above section where I mention the battle with weight. I am an animal lover. I am fairly certain I have more animals than I need, but I don’t worry about it. Animals love without boundaries. I have a terrific and dysfunctional family, and I am a firm believer in dysfunction as normality. I am independent. I do not like others to tell me what to do. Some may call that stubborn. I suppose it’s possible. Nah, I doubt it. I am not patient. I share well. It’s something I learned in childhood. I miss my grandmother terribly. I am hoping I am like her someday. I am slowly learning that life is comprised of peaks and valleys. When I am in a valley, I know I just have to do the very best I can in that valley until the next peak comes into view. I am trying.