I’ve been slacking on this whole “work” thing like crazy [imagine that] and haven’t checked my email in a coon’s age. So, imagine my chagrin when I sat down at my laptop this morning, coffee in hand, and checked my email only to find a rather shitty email about my post that I wrote on Ollie’s birthday: My Sunshine Boy.
The content of the email doesn’t mean anything and it’s been deleted and my deleted items have been deleted and I basically just want the nasty email to die a quick death.
But, one thing that has stuck with me through the entire day [even at the dentist] is how misinterpreted my post had been…well…interpreted.
I had grandiose plans for that post.
It was the only first birthday post that I would have for Ollie and it was supposed to be perfect – all rainbows and flowers and pretty things.
And then I started writing and what came out wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t clean. In fact, once I started writing, I couldn’t stop. I had tears running down my face and I was ugly crying and all of that emotion was coming out and I was determined to write it. I didn’t care how it was received because it was something that needed to be said.
Being a parent [at least for me] isn’t always about the high points. Actually, a lot of parenting is just about coping. Getting through breakfast. Getting through lunch. Getting through dinner.
You toss a one year old and a three year old in the same house and you see how awesome you are at conjuring perfection when it comes to being a parent.
I am a good mother.
I love both of my kids – equally but differently. They are both clothed [usually], fed, cleaned and hugged. They get stories read to them when they want to hear them and they are disciplined when they’ve earned that discipline.
All of this wasn’t motivated by the email [fuck em] but by me going inside just a second ago and seeing Cara curled up on the couch. I crept over to the couch to remove her “princess shoes” that she’s started wearing since they “help [her] to sleep” and I whispered into her ear, “I love you as big as the sky…” and she muttered, “…as deep as the ocean”.
I don’t know where I got that: I love you as big as the sky and as deep as the ocean.
Did I nab that from some movie? From some book?
Whatever the case, that refrain is usually what I say to Cara as I’m putting her to bed [on the couch] and it’s stuck and has obviously been hardwired into Caroline’s little brain.
I love both of them that much.
They’re both that special.