Blogging conundrum.
How do I move forward?
Not writer’s block. More like ‘blocked by a waterfall of transformational thoughts’.
Thoughts, triggering realizations so life-changing that so many of my earlier blog posts seem irrelevant. Uninformed. Motherhood 1.0.
Somehow, I keep reading, learning, absorbing. Writing down thoughts, writing out quotes.
Like a beautifully taut balloon, pricked by a needle, my world of budding thoughts is always, always interrupted by a young child’s call. Always.
I am learning too much and my journal cannot keep up. Too many started entries. How then, can I find the time to blog?
There are plenty of 3am cataclysmic ‘aha moments’. Because, that is the only time this house slumbers. Sometimes.
I pause to take a breath and realize I am a different person. A new person. A changing, work-in-progress person.
Like my friend said so well, I am a river rock, changed by each moment – more than any once-in-a-lifetime event.
So, do I reinvent my blog to follow suit? Look for a new virtual home to harbor thoughts from a new me? Do I erase all the irrelevant posts or keep them as the very real start of my journey of being a mother?

Growing up, my composer-mentor, turned secret-romantic-admirer (gross, man!) burned all of his previous symphonies. I never respected him again.
You can’t be who you are today without acknowledging who you once were. That is an integral part of the journey.
I am today because of who I was. The good, the bad, the hidden, the exposed.
That time my parents sealed all of our things in a massive container and shipped its belongings to a foreign land.
That time I tripped over a stereo system in music theory class and everyone laughed and pointed at me.
That time I held a Romanian man’s bleeding skull together after a horrific road-accident.
That time I said ‘yes’ to an American boy, with great vision and talent and compassion, who won my heart.
That first time I tasted victory in giving birth to a perfect little baby boy. That first time I discovered he wasn’t just perfect. That first time he threw food.
These things and all those in between have changed me forever.

As I pluck up the courage to face the repetitive, the mundane, I notice I am falling in love with my progeny.
Wait, I hated being at home! I wanted to be a CEO by 30!
One floor sweep after another of nasty, sticky goop, I am learning more about myself and more about them.
Learning about myself, my short-comings, even my strengths, is terrifying. Empowering. Humbling.
Motherhood is humbling. Tantrums in public are humbling. My rage is more humbling.
Learning how to remedy 2% of those tantrums because I start to understand my child is empowering. Discovering my children’s personalities has been a watershed moment. But so is the daunting exercise of looking in the mirror.
Wow, I look haggard. I look disheveled. I look sleep-deprived.
Thinking I was on the street corner begging with my daughter, a homeless man gave me money, for crying out loud! Damn!
My body will never be the same. Never ever.
It is so disheartening. So wonderful. Because great love is so often born of great sacrifice.

Oh my, look at me! I am starting to look so beautiful. Not the media beautiful, mind you.
Not plastic-beautiful. Not the big hair and waxed legs beautiful. Not the perfect.
I spit on those images now. More like, my daughter spits up on me. Which makes me spit out my coffee onto my keyboard.
I am becoming the real beautiful. The beautiful real.
Way more rewarding than being a CEO.

The beautiful real that acknowledges who I really am. And who I am becoming. Not the image I want to project.
Welcoming guests when my house is unclean. I have always loathed that. But God forbid I miss out on a chance to love because my home looks imperfect.
Sure, I want to be loved and accepted. We all yearn to be loved and accepted.

I once thought raising kids was a competition. Because I pour my blood, sweat and tears into the task and wanted some affirmation.
To the mama who recently told me her son was so much greater, brighter, wiser than mine, I want to say: “yes, he is absolutely amazing. And you are doing so well as a mother. YOU are loved. YOU are valued. YOU are sacrificing much of yourself. Well done, good and faithful servant.”
I want to see behind the words into the windows of their souls. Behind tinted glass, a frail little girl, blushing, timidly asking if she was doing an okay job.
I want to learn to lavish love on other mamas. Grow in a deeper understanding of sisterhood.
Because motherhood should come with a superhero cape.
Because it is an exhilarating, daunting, terrifying roller-coaster and we all want to know we are doing a decent job.

Instead of affirming, I compare. Later, I judge her to look like I am doing a better job than she is.
And then I am so ashamed of my childish behavior. And then, I remember that mercy triumphs over judgement.
All sense of community is destroyed when we believe it is a competition. It is not a competition.
Are we not stewards of such different treasures? How can I acknowledge that on this blog?
Let’s be honest. Let’s be real. Most of the time, I don’t know what the heck I am doing as a mother. And, by some huge act of grace outside of myself, my children learn to hold their head up, walk, talk and once in a while be compassionate towards one another.

So, then, what to do with this blog?

And just like that, naptime is over.