Daddy Issues

          Today, I found out the man I grew up calling "Daddy" passed away from lung cancer over the weekend. I received the information in a private message on Facebook, because the person who told me did not know another way to reach me. I read and re-read the message waiting for some emotion to surface and claim me, but none came. 

          Some may say I was numb. Bad news does that to some people. They hear something so tragic or sad that their emotional center shuts down and they feel nothing. Until later, of course, when the emotional flood gates burst and the many stages of grief start wrestling for their rightful place in your subconscious.

          But this wasn't that. 

          I didn't feel numb. I just felt nothing.

TGMDIO (Thank God Mother's Day is Over!)

It is no secret to anyone who knows me well that I hate this holiday. 

Almost as much as I hate Christmas (but that's for a different rant.) 

Mother's Day is the one day a year when I am acutely aware of every short-coming I have as a Mom. I was 16 when I first became a mother, although I was 15 when I discovered I would become one. I was young enough to believe that I would be better at it than my mother. The mother who never let me forget she took me in and made me her own (I was adopted at age 2) when "no one else wanted me." The mother who affectionately explained to my 5 year old self how my brown eyes announced to everyone around me that I could not be my blue-eyed mother and my green-eyed father's "real" daughter. That they had been kind enough to take me in. The mother who, in a fit of anger because I had put my socks in the wrong drawer, nearly broke my nose when she struck me.

What kind of mother ARE you? Make a #Mommitment.

What kind of mother are you? 

          I hear this phrase on a continuous loop running through the back of my head. I imagine I hear it every time I’m at the grocery store with my children, attending a school function, or herd my kids onto the bus for their therapy appointments. No matter what other people think of me, I know deep down I’m my own worst critic.

          These feelings of being judged stem from my own insecurities coupled with the current trend of women quite vocally expressing their opinions about other women’s parenting.

          Let me let you (and me) in on a little secret.

          It’s okay to disagree. We don’t all need to parent the exact same way, because we don’t all have the exact same kids, lifestyle, income, or needs. There is no simple answer. We are complicated people attempting to raise complicated people in a complicated world. It’s messy and chaotic, loud and hyperactive. Because, so is life.

          So, the next time I’m asked, “What kind of mother are you,” here is my response…