UNCLE!

I've had it.

This political season is about to push me over the edge. I think a lot of you, based on conversations I've had, feel the same way.

Let's get a few things straight.

I am a complex person. I believe in a certain set of values and ethics that I learned from my parents. My life is guided by this moral compass they so lovingly instilled. I am a product of my parents, grandparents, neighbors, teachers, church and friends. I found independence in college where I forged my own path, separate from these founding mothers and fathers, and began the evolution of my own, independent thought. There were hard lessons learned about friendship, business, the gray fog that lives between the stark contrasts of right and wrong, along the way as I married, moved and began a career. These people, experiences and situations all worked to forge the person I am today and my current city, neighborhood, friends, colleagues, children and present set of challenges provide me the opportunity to continue to evolve as a person and in my thought process.

You are a complex person. I can't conceive of what has happened in your life, what events have shaped you, influenced you and otherwise created the uniqueness that is you. I just know that we are friends. We are two complex people with enough similar interests to be writing and then reading this same piece of html space in the world. I respect our differences, hope to learn from your set of experiences in the same way I hope I can share what I have gleaned through life and together we can form a crooked puzzle piece of our relationship to add to the picture of humanity.

The world is a complex place. There are difficult problems and very few straightforward answers. There are a myriad of circumstances that make any one solution work for me and not work for you, or vice versa. There are entities that want the best for us and entities that want the best for themselves. And it's often difficult to figure out the difference, particularly when it comes to leadership where power can often blur vision and confuse priorities.

Now that we can all agree on the above set of complexities, let's get down to brass tacks.

I identify with a particular political party. It's on my voter registration. But, it does not define me nor does it define my vote.

Growing up, we watched the news during dinner. My parents openly discussed the news of the day in front of my sister and me. I did not necessarily know at the time which political party my parents identified with because it wasn't how we talked "back then." But I do remember my mom's pride when Mondale chose Ferraro as a running mate and how excited, in turn, I was as an 8 year old girl that a woman was on the ticket. I remember waiting for President Reagan to arrive in our hometown and being so excited to see him. I remember my father's outrage when my grandfather tried to get his goat by announcing he was going to vote for Perot.

And I remember each and every election day asking my parents who they voted for. And they never, not once, told me.

"It's a personal decision," my father would say. My sister and I would spend that meal trying to guess. Putting forth our arguments as to why we thought he would vote one way or she would vote the other and my dad would just sit back and smile. I imagine it probably amused him that we were having to think and articulate our positions in order to guess. At the end of the meal, however, that smile would simply be irritatingly enigmatic to my sister and me as we still had no certain idea who they had pulled the lever for.

Now, however, we seem to wear our political affiliations on our chests like we do our favorite team sweatshirts. Facebook has created a culture where not only can you share your opinion, but you can tell others they are wrong for having theirs. It's often contentious, rarely productive, conversations that result. And this is on both sides.

I have no problem with someone posting an article about a particular election issue and offering their insight into why one side might have a better solution. Those posts, however, seem to be fewer and farther between the simply incendiary ones posted with little to know explanation other than "my guy is better than your guy" or the even better "how could anyone vote for *this* guy?"

I read one of these in my timeline today, hence this diatribe. Post something informative. Don't tell me, show me. Make me take a step back to think on an issue and how it might affect someone other than myself because the fact of the matter is, I only walk in my own shoes and see things through my own eyes. Make me see something new.

Instead the tone is of superiority and condescension. It's ugly and mean and I don't need an acquaintance from college to insinuate I'm dumb for my beliefs because that's insulting me and the village of people and experiences that formed me. And frankly, I may identify with a particular political party, but I do actually look at the totality of a candidate and decide who best matches my priorities.

Because I am more than a D or an R. I am a woman, a mom, a wife, a daughter, a worker, a Catholic, a helper, a friend, a neighbor and a citizen. And if you look at me differently once you know which side of the fence I tend to sit on, then that says more about you than me, doesn't it?

The fact of the matter is we are all in this together. I have no doubt that both candidates truly have the best intentions for this nation at heart. You can't malign their motives. Their plans, sure. But their morals and motivation? How could you possibly know? How could you possibly presume?

So, please, don't presume you know me based on my voter registration.

I am a complex person.

Sophie's Choice: Kid's Saturday Scheduling Edition

I knew it was bound to happen, but I still wasn't prepared for how to handle it. The 6 year old has been invited to a birthday party and has a soccer game at the exact same time. There is no way to do them both. We will have to choose. 

The husband's initial reaction at the scheduling conflict was, "party." The birthday party is for a close friend, would be fun for the whole family and will most certainly involve cake. 

BUT. 

I began to wonder if we let him pick the party, what are we teaching him about commitment to team? Are we insinuating that it's okay to pick the fun thing over the obligation? Will this make it harder to get him to practice/Sunday school/anything he just doesn't feel like doing? 

OR. 

Are we making too big a deal about what it means to participate on a 6 year old soccer team? I mean, if we're ever going to blow off a game for a fun thing, it would be now, right? And it's not like we're letting him skip to watch TV or play in the yard or because he doesn't feel like it. It's a special circumstance. 

And there will be cake. (I clearly have a problem with sweets lately). 

UGH. 

So, dear Internet friends, oh mothers of experience...am I overreacting? 

Rule of Threes

Three blind mice. Three little pigs. The three bears. Three strikes. The holy trinity. Threes have a strange ring to it. We seek them out in writing and speeches. Wikipedia defines the rule of three as: "a writing principle that suggests that things that come in threes are inherently funnier, more satisfying, or more effective than other numbers of things."

I have recently come to the realization that my life only has room for three major categories on a daily basis. Or at least that's all my brain can handle. Two are unmovable items on my daily to-do list: the boys and work. The third thing is more flexible - redoing the boys' bedrooms, planning for a recent trip to the beach, tackling the soon-to-be three year old's birthday. 

Unfortunately, my life of threes has not seemed funny, satisfying or more effective. It feels limiting. It feels frustrating. It feels exhausting. (Notice the three. Felt good, right?). 

I want to constantly do more. Achieve more. Accomplish more. I can barely keep track of when which kid needs to wear what shirt to school for a field trip or spirit day and yet I expect I should be able to do more. There are few days when I don't think about this space. And yet here this space sits neglected. Lonely. Empty. August 5th staring from the top of the page as a reminder of how far from number three it has become on the priority list of my life. 

So how can I be so exhausted at the end of each day and yet feel like I'm still not doing enough? My dear husband would tell you that my personal standards are too high. He's probably right, to an extent. I see accomplished women that I admire seemingly doing it all. I have to remind myself that I don't see the sausage being made. I don't see the hours spent not sleeping or the help they may have or their own moments of frustration. Comparing myself to others doesn't get me, or anyone else, anywhere. My bigger problem is comparing myself to the self I'd like to be in a perfect world of a 48 hour day, the need for only 4 hours of sleep a night and supersonic speed to slay through a to do list. 

The strange thing is that the other day, while stuck in carpool, I realized this personal rule of threes. This idea that I can handle kids, work and only one other major priority on a daily basis. And at that moment, it was freeing. Why try to pile on? Take each day and decide what that third thing will be and get it done. When it's finished, whether that's in two hours or two days or two weeks, figure out the next thing. I have to let the rest go, mentally, until I have the time to tackle them with the attention they deserve. 

That's why, today, after getting the kids to bed, knocking out a few work tasks and settling into the couch with a box of two-bite brownies (damn you, Publix), I opened up my sadly neglected address on blogspot and filled up some space before my eyelids closed themselves. The birthday party planning, the desk reorganization, the laundry, can all wait for another day this week. 

Now that I recognize my personal rule of threes, I'm going to embrace it. Why fight to add a fourth thing that just won't get done anyway? I need to start setting myself up for success instead of failure. 

It's time to accept, assess and achieve. There's that rhythm of three again. 

Now if I could only stop at three brownies.  

Kindergarten Eve

Tomorrow, my oldest starts Kindergarten.

A week ago, I was counting down the days to the start of school. We have struggled this summer: butting heads, having discipline setback after setback, and to be honest, I was craving a little distance from my stubborn five year old.

Now. It's here. And I am a mix of pride, terror, sadness, joy and trepidation. He's going to take a big step up into that bright yellow school bus tomorrow morning and I won't know a thing about what is happening to him until he steps back off 8 hours later.

His teacher seems fantastic. The school is stellar. The neighborhood's older kids will certainly look out for him on the bus. He will be fine.

While I will be a puddle of mess tonight, tomorrow morning and as I stand waiting for him to disembark at 3:15.

Wasn't it just a few days ago that I was sitting in this same spot, pounding down the ice cream, swollen ankles propped on the sofa waiting as day after day after day after my due date passed? Wasn't it just yesterday afternoon that I swayed my little one in my arms to our special song? Wasn't it just last night that he was still a toddler when I snuck in his room to check on him? Wasn't it just this morning that he started preschool?

Because those moments are simply a heartbeat away, tomorrow will be tough. Because those moments are simply a heartbeat away, tomorrow will be easy. I know there are many new experiences to come, funny stories to hear, comfort to be offered.

At some point, I'll have to deal with my own changes. Kindergarten means a new role for me, too. I'm not sure what it will entail or how different it will be from the roles I have now. So much of my decision to stay home hinged on the vague, "until the kids are in school." Tomorrow marks the beginning of that time. Granted, I've already started opening that door with part time work and I have several years before the little dude is ready for Kindergarten, it's simply strange to think that the past six years have slipped so effortlessly into space.

Tomorrow I will embrace the feelings that I have. I will accept the tears, fill my day with mimosas and conversation at a neighbor's back to school party, and relish the excitement on my big guy's face when he bounds down the steps of that bus in the afternoon.

As much as I want to hang on, this is my moment to let go.

Kids - The Ultimate Reality Check

During dinner the hubby was scrolling through his playlist on his iPhone and picking the "High Heeled Mama" songs. The songs I go back to time and again. The songs I'd deem perfect. There was Bill Wither's "Ain't No Sunshine" and Marc Broussard's "Home" and Prince's "Adore" and Ray Charles' "Georgia" and Rent's "525,600 Minutes" among others.

Before the hubby went to get the boys ready for bath time, he chose an Alison Krauss song. A friend of mine, who has passed, found her voice as perfect as I do. In the quiet, I raised my glass to the sky, taking a moment to remember him and lose myself in the perfection of Alison's voice.

Then, from around the corner, came my five year old. Naked as the day he was born. Streaking through the living room shouting "Naked 5 year old! Naked 5 year old!"

And I couldn't help but smile. Not just at the absurdity of the moment, but in the truth that this lost friend would find it completely hilarious.

I can almost hear him laughing now.

Less Balance, More See-Saw

I'll admit it, I haven't read the piece in the Atlantic. I've seen some tweets. Read a few commentaries about the piece. Seen some folks post it on Facebook. But I haven't read it. I'm not sure that I will. Do I need one more person expounding on whether what I'm doing is right/wrong/indifferent/feminist/anti-feminist/social commentary/entitled?

Nope.

During the past year of this part-time, flexible working arrangement, I've come to believe that balance is a dirty word. It's a misleading concept to mothers who are busting their butts at work, child rearing, love and life.

Can you ever find true balance? I don't know. Maybe you can. And good for you. Truly. But for me, I don't know that I want balance. I struggle each day to find presence. When I'm working, I truly enjoy it and tackle the challenge at hand. When I'm with the kids, I love being mom. The difficulty is getting the work voice out of my head when I'm with the kids, and vice versa.

So, debating whether we can have it all seems kind of pointless. We already do "have it all," don't we? Many of us have jobs and kids and relationships and... It's what we do with it "all" that determines whether we are happy. The fact of the matter is that what I do with it and what you might do with it could be two totally different things and yet each might make us happy.

For me, there isn't balance and I don't strive for it. I'm constantly on a see-saw. Sometimes I'm working, sometimes I'm with the kids. You can't see without the saw. Luckily, for me, the ride is what makes it so rewarding. There is nothing less fun than a balanced see-saw, is there? Just staring at your counterpart, wishing someone could tip the scales to send you up into the sky or back down to earth.

If balance works for you, great. But I don't need someone else to tell me what the right balance is. I like my see-saw life for now. In those moments when I pass through the balance point on the way up and down, I shall acknowledge them with a nod knowing they may be fleeting, but understanding that I will see them again.

And that the journey getting to them is more exciting than just sitting still.

Rites of Passage

There was a time in my pre-kids life that I blatantly scoffed at the idea of preschool graduations. How silly these little ceremonies. Congrats, kid, you can say your ABCs and identify colors. You've really achieved something.

Perhaps that was just my own insecurity that I never had attended preschool and therefore possessed no pictures of myself in a tiny cap and gown. Perhaps I thought it was just another way we, as Americans, were unnecessarily praising the next generation. Or maybe, just maybe, I was full of crap.

What? A person admitting that kids changes their perspective? Yup. Shocking, I know.

I am sure there are still quite a few out there who still scoff and drip sarcasm at the idea of a preschool commencement, but I'm not one of them. I am a preschool graduation convert.

The 5 year old graduated from preschool today. The preschool he has spent the last three years finger painting and singing and learning about books and navigating new friendships in. As the day approached, I was finding myself quite emotional about it. Not his leaving preschool, necessarily. After all, the 2 year old will be there next year singing the same songs, his art adorning the same halls and letting butterflies loose in the same playground. But rather, I was emotional at all this step represented. Not all he had learned or accomplished or done. But all that he will learn, accomplish and do.

Today marks the beginning of his real academic journey. I have nurtured and cared and hugged and played Chutes and Ladders and taken him on this infant to toddler to preschooler journey and now it's time for me to let him go. It's time to test the skills the hubby and I (and his preschool teachers) have taught him. It's time for him to make decisions about who he sits with at lunch and how he will conduct himself in a  classroom. I have done everything I can do to prepare him and now it's time to let him go.

On August 6, he will step onto a new path.

Of course, he's not leaving home and my influence and guidance will help him navigate the life lessons he still has to learn, because at age 5 he certainly hasn't seen the real challenges life has to offer. But today, I can celebrate how he can read and think and question and joke. Concepts that, considering 5 years ago he couldn't walk or talk and only had two teeth, are pretty monumental.

And that is worth celebrating.