The Trouble With Comparisons

Sometimes I get mad, and I mean really mad, at my husband because I don't think he thinks I am a good enough wife or mom. But here's the thing (and this is like the biggest truth I could ever spew)...he has never, ever, EVER, not even once, given me any reason to think that he felt that way about me. In fact, he will randomly on a Wednesday decide to text me in the middle of the day, while we are both at work, to tell me that I'm a great mom and the 3 of them are lucky to have me. So why in the name of all that is good in this world, would I get mad at him for making me feel that I wasn't good enough?

The answer is simple.

Me. I am the reason I get mad at him for me not feeling like I am good enough. I let my own insecurities and self doubt get SO loud that I not only believe that they are the truth, I also convince myself that everyone else must think the same. My own lies and clouded judgments brought on by paying more attention to what I DON'T do than to what I actually do take over and it is all downhill from there.

But I don't think I'm alone there. I think to some extent, we all go down the rabbit hole of comparisons even more than we actually realize or care to admit.

Things I Need My Kids To Know

An oldie, but a goodie...

Dear Ben and Blake,

I was watching you play tonight at YaYa and PaPa's house when I was there to pick you up after work and I couldn't help  it...all I could do was stare at you. You both bounced from one thing to the next with such purpose and at the same time with no care in the world. You made each other laugh, you ran in circles, you played dice at the table and you mimicked each other. You gave me hugs, you asked how my day was, and you softened the blow of what was honestly, one of the most mentally and emotionally challenging weeks I have had in a long long time.

All I wanted to do was bottle every bit of happiness you exude right up. All I wanted to do was figure out how to keep you small, to keep you laughing, to keep you as free as you were...and as you usually are.

But, despite my best efforts, I can't do any of that.

I cannot stop you from growing up. I cannot promise you won't have a week from hell, that your feelings won't get hurt, that your heart won't get broken, that you won't bat last in the lineup, that you won't feel defeated and that you won't get knocked down a few pegs every now and then.