You know what’s hard?

I mean, extremely difficult, without cut and dried answers?

Parenting.

It’s like a choose your own adventure book with new endings and twists being added each time you set the book down for a short break.

It’s just so complicated.

Worthy of your efforts?  Without question.

But hard.

So ridiculously hard.

It’s the kind of hard that makes you want to cuss, cry, rant, hug your own momma and daddy, pull your hair out, ask for help from strangers on the street, pretend you’ve got it all figured out, believe your own junk will ruin your children, find a time machine, hide in the bathroom.  That kind of hard.

You name it.

There are a billion what if’s and why did I say that? and was that the right decision? moments.

Stuff that mommas can’t fix and young minds cannot understand.  Stuff with no answers and stuff that we just get straight up wrong.

A couple of other moms and I were talking recently and sharing the stuff that moms do — well, the stuff that moms do when they can get over themselves and their pride issues and just say real words about real stuff.  The things we can say when we have friends who we know won’t be talking about us behind our backs and secretly thinking, “What is wrong with that one?”.  And we were sharing parenting failures and mishaps and fears.  And how our hearts are full up of NOT wanting to be guilty of judging any mom on the poor end of a bad decision making day.

How incredibly easy it is to look from the one angle we can see – outside – and to make a call on what we believe is happening from the one angle we can’t see – inside.

I don’t want to do that.  I hope you don’t want to either.

And I am anxious to offer myself that same measure of grace I want to extend to my friends (and my strangers).

 

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