The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree...

This week has been a bit discouraging. Motherhood is wearing me out. And I can't find the time I need in between child-rearing, child-educating, home-keeping, and a working-a-lot-right-now husband to get my bedroom finished. (Sneak-peek at the bottom of this post.)

Misplaced priorities? Check. Selfishly pursuing my own agenda? Check. Wanting to swat away all small children who get in my way? Check.

I want to be June Cleaver. Instead, I wish I had a meat cleaver.

But I was reminded today how the Father's mercies are new every morning.  

My 7-year-old daughter, Blondie, sweetly came to my bedside and inquired about my breakfast plans. When I came out to the kitchen, she had lovingly placed a plate of waffles and glass of soy milk on the table for me.

But that's not all...

She also fixed waffles for Brownie. And Cupcake. And herself.

But that's not all...

She cleaned up the kitchen, hand washing and drying all the dishes.

But that's not all...

She enthusiastically jumped into her schoolwork with an attitude I have not seen in months.

And in the midst of it all, I found this.

A TO DO LIST...FOR A SEVEN-YEAR-OLD!

I have never instructed her in the ways of to-do lists. I don't know that she's ever seen me make one. And oh, I have made many. 

If to-do lists had magical powers to morph the list-maker into an individual of productivity and effectiveness, I would be leader of the free world. I've even listed tasks I've already completed just for the satisfaction of checking more items off. (Sick and twisted, I know.)

That's because I'm a Wannabe Type A. (Well, a recovering Wannabe Type A.) 

And now I'm afraid she is too.

She has started countless art projects and failed to finish them because something else distracted her. Or she couldn't get it exactly right so she walked away distraught and in tears. Or she had all this creative energy and wanted to do something but she couldn't decide on the perfect project. So she did nothing, paralyzed by her perfectionism. Just like me. 

And I, as her mother, want to protect her from years of frustrating failure and self-loathing due to unfinished projects, unkept schedules, and thousands of wasted dollars on day-timers and organizing gadgets. I want her to accept herself, whether she's organized and focused or free-spirited and easily-distracted.

I want to save her from herself. 

But deep down, I know I cannot.

I'm nearly 36 and I've only recently begun figuring myself out. I've accepted some of my less-than-desirable character traits. I've stopped trying to please every dang person on the planet. I've surrendered to just being me. Not the me I want to be, but the me I really am. 

And while achieving such self-awareness years ago would have saved me (and those around me) much heartache, I know the journey was part of the destination.

It will be for her too. Sigh.

And while I can serve as a knowledgeable guide, she will have to travel her own path...

And she will be better for it. 

Just as I am.

........................................................................

(Sneak peek at the almost-free-and-not-quite-finished-bedroom-re-do. Honestly, I should be jailed for such blatant hyphenation.)

BEFORE (experimenting with art and a color scheme that just wasn't coming together):

AFTER (took out all the color and going for the monochromatic look):

More to come...