As someone who spends a lot of time on social media, I have to say that I often wish it didn’t exist. While I can’t seem to pry myself away from it, deep down I long for an existence that is more focused on being present and consumed with my own life rather than hundreds (or thousands, even) of others. I wonder what a more anonymous life would look like.

But, this is what we do nowadays. We post, we chat, we upload, we comment, we like (or unlike). And how often do we stop to ask ourselves: how much of this is real?

It’s crazy to me that we are so affected by the social media phenomenon while knowing, on some level, that it’s not an accurate picture of reality. On an intellectual level, it makes sense that we aren’t seeing it all given people don’t post pictures and videos and status updates of their unhappiness and failures. Yet, we still compare our real realities to these very doctored-up ones. I know I do. (P.S. Have you read Why Generation Y Yuppies are So Unhappy? You totally should).

It makes me wonder why exactly we do this. Why we share and compare so much. Why I am so easily convinced that other people have perfect children, blissful marriages, bigger houses, better things, and super successful careers while I sit over here, the odd (wo)man out, struggling to pay bills, nagging my husband unendingly about things that don’t matter, losing my patience with a child who will not sleep, and still trying to figure out what I want to do with my life.

But, really, I know I can’t be alone. Because, as they say, we are all fighting our own hard battle. And many of us are comparing our insides to other people’s outsides.

To that end, I want to say that I hope this blog offers a little more honesty than you find elsewhere. I know that I oftentimes see my writing as rose-colored words even when they are coming from a place of truth so I’d like to push myself to continue to share the hard stuff, as well.

To the truth!

The more Emerson grows, the more she takes my breath away. I’m not sure how much of that is my biological instinct to love and adore and find her beautiful, but it’s pretty strong. She’s such a lovely, intelligent, creative, hilarious, insanely positive, sweet and affectionate little girl. Yup…nothing but sap from me today.

Emerson has been suffering from daddy withdrawal since the school year began. Last year she was so small and her life mainly consisted of nursing and sleeping all day so she didn’t seem to notice how often Alex was gone. But, she is a much more developed human being now and super attached to her daddy after a summer of bonding and fun.

So, I’ve been dealing with a small person who is developed enough to know and feel sad about daddy being gone, while not yet being able to totally express or deal with that. We have talks all day about how daddy went to work. Emerson says “bye bye, daddy….beep beep” over and over. (Translation: Daddy left in the car). She calls out “daddy?!” every time she hears a noise in the house. She packs her important belongings in anything resembling a bag, puts it over her shoulder, hops on her plastic bike/car and tells me she’s going bye bye (to work, I’m assuming).

Most interestingly, though, Emerson has decided to deal with her sadness by spending time with her stand-in daddy during the day: a small, metal buddha statue.

You see, a few days into the school year, Emerson noticed a buddha statue in the bathroom. She pointed to it and said “daddy!” And it seemed that the more times I tried to correct her by saying “that’s buddha,” the more excited she became about the statue really being daddy (to her). She began to carry the statue around, hug it, pat its back, put it night night….all while calling it “daddy.”

It made her happy.

And soon Emerson noticed that there were other “daddies” spread about the house. Alex wasn’t too keen on the idea of Emerson’s new daddy collection and was worried that she was actually onfused about who her daddy was. But, I am simply amazed by Emerson’s creative and (in my opinion) mature way of working out her emotions. Also, I am jealous that Emerson associated Alex with buddha. Because, when it comes to mama, I am associated with a sad, haggard looking daddy doggy. For real. Whenever Emerson sees this page in Hop on Pop, she calls out “Mama! This mama!”

I’m taking this as a sign that I need a little more zen in my life. Thank you, Emerson.

We found ourselves in Stowe, Vermont this past weekend. Though we were there under very sad circumstances, there was also joy in finally bringing Emerson to one of our sacred places—where we got married. As I watched my child roam the lawns, marvel at the mountains, and explore the inn (that my husband’s family owns) I was filled with so much nostalgia. As if Emerson were standing in moments I could so vividly see all around me….

In light of some sad news, I decided to spend the afternoon letting go of all the unfolded laundry, piles of dishes, career aspirations, opportunities for time to myself, phone calls and emails waiting to be returned. Instead, I walked in the perfect afternoon sun with my family, feeling the first bite of autumn across my cheek. I let Emerson loose on the town green, and watched as she delighted in running up the hill, and then down the hill. Over and over. Giggling and free. Holding my hand as we walked back across the field together.

Never had it felt so good to feel that little hand in mine, or to hear my child’s roars of happiness. It was a no frills moment I felt certain I would never forget.

I don’t have much of a point here. I suppose, really, my point is in the simplicity of my story. Sometimes, the meaning of life….the sacred….the whole point of everything….is most obvious and palpable when you do nothing. Because, nothing is everything, and you cannot see the everything when you’re distracted or busy.

Moments of frustration are part and parcel of parenthood. I think at one time or another, we’ve all found ourselves feeling like we can’t take any more. Those moments repeat themselves at random, over and over (I’m assuming for all of eternity once you become a parent). And it can be difficult to always (or, even most of the time) handle those moments with grace and a calm attitude. Maybe instead you snap at your child (or spouse), maybe you stomp the floor and scream, maybe you feel utterly overwhelmed and cry.

But, what if you were able to frame those “too much” moments in a brand new light? I often find that a change of perspective is just what I need to reclaim my serenity.

I used to picture Emerson as a newborn (or look at actual pictures) when I felt stressed by the challenges she brought to my life. While I struggle to react to stress in a calm, productive manner, visualization is a small thing I can do to turn it all around. You see, I find it impossible to feel anything but joy, kindness, and love when I remember that 8-pound angel. She was so small and vulnerable (just as her spirit and heart still are) that I couldn’t even imagine feeling frustrated (or worse). I had waited so long to meet her, had wanted her so desperately, and loved her so much, that I felt so grateful all the time. That constant sense of gratitude made it easy to push through the challenges and continue to give my everything to my newborn. The memory of that time can remind me to do the same now.

Yet, it’s not always easy.

As the level of “catastrophe” has ratcheted up in step with Emerson’s age, so have my efforts to remain grateful. I have realized that no matter how sleep deprived I am as I wait for my 15-month-old to finally start sleeping through the night, or frustrated at the sight of yet another mess, or rattled by the sound of whining, tantrum-ing, and whimpering while trying to cook dinner, it is this simple: she is here. She, my darling daughter, is here…with me. And that right there is everything. Really, it isn’t a “simple” thought at all, but a profound one.

There are so many tragedies befalling families these days. All it takes is a quick look at the news to feel blessed to have my child at home….healthy, happy, and alive. Or, a look at those even closer, like my husband’s 7-year-old cousin who is dying of cancer. That little boy’s parents are living in gratitude for every minute more they get to spend with him.

So, gratitude. It’s the antidote to the challenges of parenthood. Nothing will test you as greatly as a child, and nothing will make you feel so utterly blessed. For every sleepless night, pasta sauce stain on my white couch, or hour I’ve spent in a vehicle with a screaming child strapped in her car seat, there are sacred cuddles, shared triumphs, and love reciprocated that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. I have found much more joy than frustration, lately, by simply holding that thought in my mind like a meditation.

Be grateful.

Yesterday, after several days of rain, Alex and I decided to bring a little of the outdoors in by setting up our camping tent in the playroom. I filled it with pillows, blankets, stuffed animals and books. Then I made it cozy and magical by decorating the outside with Christmas lights. We all enjoyed having a fun place to lounge and hide out from the rain. It was exciting for Emerson in a novel kind of way, while it was exciting for Alex and I in a nostalgic kind of way (reminding us of the amazing camping trips we used to take together). 

A rainy day hit in our house…

The incredible life of a toddler….

She wears undies on her head

Undies as a scarf

And a sports bra across her chest to compliment the undies on her head

Oh, and she really enjoys doing some light dusting while wearing said outfit

She sits in boxes

And more boxes

 And more boxes…while wearing a tutu

Oh, and she also sits in drawers

She likes to walk around the house with mommy’s purse and a soft measuring tape around her neck….like, all of the time

 She also likes to walk in mommy’s shoes…

And she gets really thirsty from lugging around those big shoes on her tiny body

 Sometimes she likes to just sit and contemplate life

And sometimes, she’s just too tired to do anything but lie perfectly still on the floor while holding a balloon and a talking dog

She’s a toddler.