Ahhh, time for the New Year's Resolutions

Over the years I had grown to hate the habit of the New Year's resolution.  Mostly because I failed miserably in carrying out the resolutions.  So one year I made a resolution to make no resolution(s).  I loved that resolution!  And I stuck to it without a problem.  

I did make a resolution for 2005 that I also liked, it was to start drinking again.  (I had quit drinking several years before that, mostly because I am an all-or-nothing type of girl and moderation is not in my genetic make-up.) Connor had been diagnosed with autism in August of 2004, and I felt like a really needed a drink. Today I have a drink or two on special occasions and have found that I can be moderate about at least one thing.

I did make resolutions the years following, but let's just say my butt is STILL as large as some small towns. So I am sitting here on the eve of 2009, wondering about resolutions again. My stomach is in a knot. I feel compelled to promise myself so many things. Then I feel depressed knowing that I probably can't/won't follow through with whatever grand idea pops into my head. Time, demands, special needs all seem to conspire against my idealism.

As I write it dawns on me that the answer to my question is in the words I have written: failure, lack, big butt, knot, depressed, can't, won't, conspire. And there it is, clear as day, my resolution: cut myself some slack. Life isn't perfect, and neither am I. And this is going to be the year that I learn to accept myself as good enough. 

I wish you and yours a blessed 2009. 

  

Guilt, guilt, guilt

A parent of a child with special needs looks guilt in the face many times a day.  I should know, I have felt guilty at least 3 times today, and it is just mid-afternoon. Guilty that I was so irritated with my son who was up at 4:00 this morning, guilty that I was embarrassed about Connor's outbursts during the movie, and guilty that I was anything but patient when he messed with my printer for the millionth time.  

I go to bed some nights and remorse washes over me as I think about the events of the day. I think of all the "teachable" moments I missed, the times I should have whispered instead of yelled, and the fear that my children see me as a shrew instead of a loving mother. Guilt is my constant companion.

I wish I could be that perfect mother. I know, I know. The perfect mother is a myth. The perfect mother does not exist. Great, now I feel guilty that I want to be something that I am not. Ugh. Doesn't end, does it?