Things Happen

That's my daughter's go-to phrase:  Things Happen.  Life is a series of happy accidents. . . or blessings in disguise.  After 2 1/2 years here at home with her, I still often struggle with my place in this world.  My jobs, for lack of a better term, were crap; it's not like I was on the fast track to running a Fortune 500 company when I became a SAHM in 2011.  Having said that, I'm not exactly motherly either.  I'm not much of a cook.  My house is usually a complete mess.  I only recently found out what a "busy bag" is.  And . . . my overly independent child wants little to do with any projects or activities I try to present to her.  I still ask myself every day "What the fuck am I doing here?"  Is there something that I do right?

First of all, I put my highly independent child into preschool just after she turned 2, and it has given her the freedom that most kids her age aren't even looking for.  Also, I dispense A LOT of hugs - I'd like to think I have a PhD in what we call "buggying."  I sing the ABCs with her, and she knows the whole song, which surprises me (should it?).  We sing and dance to the movie Xanadu (don't judge).  Singing is popular in our house; my kiddo will look right into my eyes and sing the entire chorus of "You Are So Beautiful" by Joe Cocker.  Even though she isn't great with her colors yet, she can count to twelve - and we're working up to twenty.

When I feel inadequate - which really isn't as frequently as some might think - I hear that little voice in my head singing "You Are So Beautiful."  Or I think of the joy she has when I pick her up after school, as she yells goodbye to everyone all the way down the hall.  Then I remember the little dance she does along with Gene Kelly in Xanadu.  That's when I appreciate the wondrous child that I have - and know that even though I'm not perfect, my kid is blossoming.  So I must be doing something right.