Who I am Not

I want to be that person lets their children run free in the playground without a worry in the world. I want to stand on the outskirts of the sand/monkey bars/water and talk with my friends. I want to trust that there are no creepy people waiting in the outskirts and that everyone at the park is there for the sole intention of allowing their children to wander around free-range and play to their little hearts content.

But I’m not.

I want to be the mom that sends their children off to the pool to swim and then falls asleep poolside. The woman that closes her eyes to the splashing and the mayhem and actually relaxes instead of worrying that their cherub is going to slip into oblivion under the water and no one will see. I want to be the person that is so immersed in a book that when someone says, “Where’s your daughter?” I can laugh and say, “Hmmm…I’m not sure!”

But I’m not.

I want to be the person that wanders away from their carriage at the grocery store to find the perfect asparagus and speak for a moment to a friend. To chat with the fishmonger about the freshest salmon and pair it with dill while my children play hide and seek among the produce – laughing because they found a spot so great that even I can’t find them.

But I’m not.

I want to shower and do my makeup and step into the world looking buffed, puffed and tall in my platform stilettos. My nails; perfect. My hair; thick and fabulous and in the ideal style without a single (noticeable) white. Size 4 Seven For All Mankinds – like a glove. I want to know I look “running into ex-boyfriend” hot every day. I want the quiet, peace and time to do this daily routine without anyone crying, whining or complaining that I’m taking too long. I want to be that person that LOVES to workout.

But I’m not.

I want to sit on the floor and paint and color and craft and play without worrying about the ridiculous mess. I want to take joy cooking delicious and healthy concoctions that my girls will fondly remember and wish to replicate for their children. I want to find that line between helicopter and free range mom, and send my girls into the world giggling and wild. I want to drift into blissful oblivion each night because my kids are healthy and happy and are going to live long, wonderful lives.

But I’m not that person.

I don’t even know how to begin to be that person. I’m just winging it through this whole experience. I am a habitual worrier – convinced someone is going to snatch my babies and my life will be over. I don’t know how to relax. There are never enough hours in the day to spend special moments with both of my children, my husband and my sanity. There are too many “no’s” and breaking up pint-sized arguments.

And, exhaustion. Oh, so much exhaustion.

There’s just not enough ‘me’ to go around. Days enveloped in “I’m not doing enough” or “I’m just failing as a human.” And the occasional, “I want to hide under a rock and have everyone leave me alone because I am sinking into my own hideous and don’t want to drag you down with me.”

But I can’t. I have little people that need me. And a husband that loves me. And health. We are all healthy and safe. At the end of every day, I remember to thank God for all my blessings. And, try to remember that I am doing the best that I possibly can.

Maybe tomorrow I can attempt one less “no” and a little more patience.

Or one moment when I let my children play without that paranoia that someone is waiting in the wings to take them and my life along with it.

Or one less piece of candy, which may lead me closer to that elusive ‘size 4.’

And hope that my children know that my crazy actions and paranoia and “don’t do that’s” are drenched in love.

Because I’m not ever going to be that free spirit that lets the winds dictate our world. But I am going to love my children so much it hurts, and hope that’s what they take with them when they drift into dreamland at the end of each day.

Tracy Winslow is one of the top four funniest people at her address. She lives with her husband and two daughters in California. You can read more of their hilarious antics at Momaical.