My next blog post was actually all prepared, ready to post on my blog when the tragedy struck. I had written a piece on Vegas with kids, which I will post at a later date, but not this week. Or probably the week after, or the week after that. No one can prepare you for such tragedy, and my heart goes out to all who lost a loved one.
My mother is always one to readily point out the dangers of travelling, and after the attacks on innocent people a couple of days ago, I can understand why we should be hesitant. My question is, how much cotton wool should we wrap our children in before they head out the door?

Being a mumma is one of the hardest jobs I have ever encountered. Sometimes I look at my boys and think, ‘ how did I get this lucky’. I often feel like I would burst if I felt anymore love for them. Don’t get me wrong, I also have many moments when I want to run out the door and take an unceremonious 5-week vacation by myself to a remote location…but let’s focus on the positives. We, as parents, all want to protect our children and want to give the best we possibly can to our children. The ideology of the ‘nanny state’, sometimes isn’t unrequited, and the restrictions we bind our little ones in can have no end. We demand they behave and never act out of sorts. They must be tidy, and clean up almost as soon as they have started playing with their toys. Wearing 30 layers when it’s cold out is a must, and let’s not even begin to debate about what they should or should not eat. Then there are the constant comments from perfectly, reliable and ‘affable’ strangers who are quite certain that their advice, stares (or glares) will somehow make us think twice about bringing our children out in public again. We are constantly second-guessing our selves, trying to reach those echelons of perfect parenting. We aim to keep up with the mummas next door, who never yell at their children, or have a dirty floor, dirty clothes or dirty anything, and never, ever feel like running out the door to take a solo vacation.

Why do we do it to ourselves? Comparing what we have to the person on the other side of the street is never going to get us anywhere, and it certainly isn’t going to make us feel any better to point out how much someone does or doesn’t have. We live in a world where there is always something or someone better or bigger barely around the corner. We will never be good enough, wise enough, wealthy enough, or the domestic goddess and mother of all mothers if we are constantly putting ourselves down, and fearing the worst. Does it matter if our children are wearing the latest clothes or if they are top of the class? Are we a better person if our child has more stuffed animals than the local toy store and counts to a hundred by the time they reach the age of two? Am I better mother if I bake everything from scratch, plant my own vegetables, vacuum my floor daily and laugh at everything they do. Well, probably. But I’m not sure my children will love me any more than they already do, nor will others love me anymore. I also highly doubt I will I be more accepting of myself. I have to choose to be okay with how I parent, regardless of the stuff ups I make along the way. I have never met a perfect parent, nor a perfect child, yet it seems all mothers believe there is this magical being somewhere, living undetected in the hills.

I’m still new to this game but I think giving myself the room to make mistakes, to be wrong, and allowing grace is key. What am I saying to myself when no one is listening. Who am I comparing myself to, and why? Pause, reflect, refocus. For some this may mean booking time off, going away for a short time with immediate family. For others, it may just mean stepping back. Looking at your children differently, your spouse, your home, your life, and allowing yourself to be thankful. Not because you have more than others, or for any reason that needs to compare. Just because you are thankful. I want to be a better mum, a better wife, a better friend. But if I am constantly going to beat myself up for every little mistake I make I’m never going to move forward or allow myself peace. I want my boys to look at me, and know that I am happy, and we are happy. Fearing the world, scary though it may be, will only induce more fear. I choose to be free.