Knowing All of the Answers

I remember when I was young (yes, a veeeerrrryyyyyy long time ago), I thought my parents had all of the answers.  They knew why the sky was blue.  The knew what we were having for dinner.  They knew why my little sister was so annoying.  They knew how Santa could travel the earth in one night.  They knew the going rate the tooth fairy paid for a front tooth vs a molar.  They knew everything.  They were the smartest people on earth.

I decided then (with the wisdom of a child) that 30 was the magic age.  When I turned 30, I would know all of the answers.  I would be wise, beautiful, confident, and successful.  When I was 30, my world would be perfect.

Guess what?  I was wrong.

Now, on the other side of 40, I admit that not only do I NOT have all of the answers, I don't even know where to look for most of them.  Some answers just can't be found in the dictionary, or in encyclopedias (yes, I am that old), or even *gasp*shudder* on the internet.

I'm not perfect.  I'm not even close.  I'm not smart.  I'm not beautiful.  I'm not confident.  I still feel insecure and afraid.  I am still as socially awkward now as I was in high school (though, Thank You, God, for helping me to survive That Horror!).  I still have trouble remembering that sometimes it is best to remain quiet.  I still can't think of the "right" thing to say in difficult situations.  I can't kiss my kids boo-boos better and I can't protect them from life's little agonies.  I can't even comfort my husband when life throws him a curve.  I can't take care of my mother like I wish I could.  I feel completely inadequate as a Daughter, as a Wife, as Mother, even as a Woman.

But sometimes, I get close to being perfect.  I can change light bulbs for my mother and change the sheets on her bed.  I can rock my little boy to sleep sometimes even at the age of 5. I can still tell my boys how proud I am of them and all they accomplish.  I can hold my husband's hand, look him in the eye and honestly tell him that I love him, and that I believe in him, and know that he believes me even if he doesn't believe in himself.

So while, I'm still not wise, or beautiful, or confident, I think I am successful.  I'm happy with my life.  I don't have a high-powered job and money is still tight, but I don't need those things.  I have a husband I love that loves me, and my kids still (mostly) think I'm perfect.  Those are the criteria by which I judge my success.  And when I feel inadequate and awkward and helpless, I try to remember to remind myself of those things.  Some days I'm more successful than others, but sometimes making the effort is all that matters.

As a Daughter.....

Family is important.  They are the first ones that love you, and the ones that stay beside you through life.  They're behind you when you need holding up, they're in front of you when you need to be led.  They are there at the beginning and at the end, though some faces might have changed through time.  Family is important.  At least they are supposed to be.

My mother isn't in the best of health.  Details are irrelevant, but it will suffice to say there is a lot she can no longer do.  She has to rely on others.  That should be me.  I help her change the sheets on her bed, I help her move furniture, I help her do anything she asks.  And therein lies the problem.  She shouldn't have to ask.  I should visit her more often and see what needs to be done.  I should do more than just call regularly.  She doesn't always like to admit when she needs help.  She doesn't always tell the truth when I ask her how she's feeling.  I should see for myself.

My father lives too far away.  His house is almost an hour from me.  We could meet in the middle.  But we don't.  We could get together for lunch more often.  But we don't.  We could make a point of visiting him more often.  But we don't.

Life gets in the way.  I work.  I have small children.  I have a never-ending list of chores to be done at home, such as laundry, dishes, etc.  I have to help with homework (and make sure it's even done).  Weekends are usually devoted to housecleaning and laundry that is let go during the week.  It's hard to visit.  It's hard to check on my parents.

I should do more, but I don't.  I feel guilty, but that doesn't help.  I make excuses to myself.  I'm too busy right now.  She could ask for help more.  He could come visit us.  But in the end, that's all they are:  Excuses.  I can't control them.  I can control me.  I can control my own decisions and my own priorities.  I need to change what I can.  I need to be a better daughter.  I will try.