Today, apparently, I simply suck

Running out of incentives to induce good behavior, this morning, as she tore the house up and berated me because she wouldn't get out of bed in time to catch her ride, I calmly informed my daughter that although her replacement Converse Hi-Tops would arrive today, she would not be wearing them until she made it on time to jazz band practice for an entire week.

"You made a commitment to be in a band and that means attending practices," I stated emphatically.

"You made a commitment to be my mother and that's not working out so well, is it?" she screamed in my face.

Her words bite me still even as I type. It may be easy on the outside looking in to agree with her and tell me that this messy relationship is indeed my fault. If only I would handle things differently, lay down the law, spend more time with her, etc... I already get that from a couple of people in my ward (lesson #1: never judge a mother through the eyes of her 12-year-old daughter) to whom she is nothing but sweet and respectful and fun, and who, frankly, would be shocked if they witnessed one of her too-frequent tirades.

Sure there are days when I could handle things better. But I think the fact that no matter how bad it gets I don't usually yell back; I haven't smacked her across the face; I continue to calmly tell her "You're Welcome" and "Bye, I love you. Have a good day," as I drop her off to school (even on mornings when she's at her worst); and I haven't, as of yet, left home or wished the same upon her when she is a mother, speaks volumes about my commitment to be her mother.

I only hope I can see this through and that my commitment (unless she gets her way--which she doesn't always, because that's not always what's best for her--she chooses to not see the love) will be enough. On days like today I honestly wonder...

My own version of good, better, best:

Good or good enough.


Your thoughts, please.

How do you balance being a Mommy with a member of a larger family?

I just had to send out an email canceling our trip to California to see our families. I prayed about it, I know it was the right thing to do, but I just feel like a bad person. (I canceled it because Jooj has been really troubled lately with everything--sickness, tantrums, general sadness, everything. And she needs stability and quiet and sleep in her own bed. Not a vacation.)

Why am I feeling so guilty for disappointing my extended family, when I should be feeling proud for being the mother of my children, and putting my OWN family first?

How do you find a balance between the old relationships and roles and the new ones?

Move over, Brit

Today I noticed that, overnight, Jooj had grown out of her pajama top, rendering it a half-shirt worthy of a guest appearance on TeenNick.

I think that her growth spurt is because I feed her so well. Take this morning:

What do you want for breakfast?

"Candy and peas."

Well, Okay. If you sit on the potty.

"And Pink soda."

Fine.

Wait, They Come That Way?

"New research shows that in most cases the personalities displayed very early in life— as young as preschool — will stay with us into adulthood. The wallflowers will stay shy and reticent, though they will learn in time to be a little more sociable and assertive. And the average kids, the more resilient ones, will remain so. " source.

Dear Scientists,

Duh.

We know. You could have just asked your mom. She would have told you that you were born with your personality.

She then would have told you to make sure that you're saving at least 20% of your research money for a rainy day. Oh, and do you need some new socks? She saw some for sale last week in ShopKo but can't remember if you like the goldtoe or some ankle-highs. Call her as soon as you can because your Cousin Louise is coming into town and she'd like to see the kids.

Yours cordially,
Azucar

Last night being a good mommy was incredibly hard. We talked, for the first time, about how she is adopted. It came about pretty naturally: We were talking about temples. I told her how she went to the temple with us when she was a baby, so that we could be her parents forever.

"Baby Jooj go to temple?"
"Yes."
"Baby Nora (her cousin) go to temple?"
"Well, no."
"Why?"

So we talked about how Baby Nora came out of Tia Amy's belly, so they didn't have to go to the temple. And Baby Jooj didn't come out of mommy's belly, so...

"Baby Jooj in you belly."
"No, Mami can't get babies in her belly. Mami's belly is broken."
"No! Baby Jooj go in YOU belly."
"No, honey, Mami's belly is broken, so Heavenly Father put Baby Jooj in Diana's belly. Then Diana brought you to us, because Mami and Papi and Jooj are a family."
"No, I go in YOU belly. No Diana."
"I wish you were in my belly, Jooj, but Mami's belly is broken."
"You belly need batteries?"
"Yes, Mami's belly needs special batteries."
"Oh. Es Ok?"
"Oh yes, Mami is ok. And Jooj is my baby forever."

And it was so hard.

I love my daughter, I love my family, and I love that, through adoption, I am able to have her with me. And I know that telling her about adoption is important--it is not like we can hide it and she can meet her twin at summer camp and switch places in order to reconnect her father and I in love and marriage and groovy guitar songs. But I didn't expect it to hurt my heart to tell her.

I so wanted to say "You came from my belly--you and me have been together, even as little tiny cells inside Grammy Su, forever. I felt you kick, I loved you every second of the day. I fed you with my every heart beat, and I pushed you out and held you the instant you were born. You are mine and will never feel the need to seek out another mother, another person who shares your cells."

But I couldn't. Because it isn't true.

I know that she loves me. I know she is MINE. But our talk last night was the start of my biggest fear--that she will not feel like she is mine entirely, any longer. I know we will talk about it again and again, and I worry that, each time, she will feel drawn to another woman, another family, another set of siblings. Maybe she won't--maybe we are enough for her. But the fear is there.

Go Ahead, Admit It

Sometimes you have a favorite child.