Everday Things

Motherhood didn't so much call to me as it mowed me down in it's wake. I never planned on having children, honestly, I wasn't the camp counselor the kids adored, the favorite babysitter, the peer counselor in the elementary school. I was the snarky aloof kid, busily looking for things to make fun of. (I'm sure you're all shocked.) Motherhood was sort of inevitable, I guessed, but nothing I really desired. There are lots of times that I still wonder how I got here, how I'll survive it, and how soon I should start my children's therapy.

But Sunday, I got a flash of what could be. And a flash of maybe, just maybe, I hadn't screwed it all up as badly as I thought. You see, I am a horrible perfectionist, described best by my brilliant friend Ron as letting the dementors chase me. Instead of letting things go, I obsess over them to the point of being paralyzed into doing nothing. It sucks the joy out of decision-making, let me tell you, and it brings a lot of terror into "just throwing yourself out there," which is always the advice I've received.

And I've let my angst color most of my world-view, which I think is coloring my children's, like it or not. I have visions of motherhood being like Martha Stewart and June Cleaver - aprons, fresh-baked cookies, and clean houses, all of which continually elude me. It's an odd thing, setting yourself up for failure and learning to settle, but here we are. Back to Sunday.

Sunday was back to school shopping day, and since Kate is now of the age where you can't just pick out her clothes, we agreed on a "no boys allowed" trip. Shopping for us now entails a bit of travel, since beyond WalMart, Mayberry doesn't offer much for the fashion-conscious 5th grader. So off we went to Big City, map in hand, and high hopes for her new wardrobe. She's a tricky kid to shop for, being that most 1st graders we meet are bigger than she is, so it's tough to find the cool clothes she craves in little kid sizes.

Based on my track record for the odd outcome, you're likely thinking that the trip was a disaster, and all that we could find were smocked jumpers and pinafore collars. But in a shock to all, Katie, who became Kate the cool, found clothes. And lots of them. And for once in my life, I enjoyed a trip to the mall. She giggled, paraded around the dressing room, and stopped twirling only long enough to throw her arms around my neck and sigh.

"I love you, Mom. This is the best day ever."

E is for... celebrating the everyday things. The times that your "too old to be Katie anymore" daughter becomes Kate, but holds your hand in the parking lot anyway. Maybe this motherhood gig just might work out after all.