We took down our Christmas decorations December 26, 2016, not because we are grinches, but because we had to be in California to speak at a student event. Unfortunately, we were out of travel-sized shampoo, so I stopped in the drug store. It was decked out already, not with Christmas or New Year's decorations, but with pink and purple hearts. Stores were already getting ready for the consumers to jump on the Love Month bandwagon. 

Sometimes I live in fear for my children.

Fear they’ll walk the same dreadful path I did. Fear I’m not good enough. Fear I’m not what they need. Fear I don’t measure up to the “got-it-all-together-beloved-mama” label that’s been plastered across my forehead.

It's exhausting, and I just want to do it right.

We were standing in her kitchen talking about kids and Christmas when my friend said, “I was trying to explain to my daughter that Christmas is about Jesus, but she said, ‘No mom, it’s about getting presents.’ She’s only four, so I get it, but I’m just trying to figure out how to teach her the true meaning.” 

I'm driving down the road to see a friend. I love her, her parents and her relationship with her twin brothers. I'm even willing to love her dog, even though I'm allergic, because I just want what she has. I actually just want to have her life instead of mine...or maybe mine with a few adjustments. I love everything about my family, my mom, my brother, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, and all of my many cousins. But, if I'm to be honest, I feel disappointed in the dad area.