Yesterday I was at the grocery store picking up a few items. Several rows over I can hear a child screaming at the top of her lungs. She went on and on and the sound was getting louder as I was moving that direction and they were moving towards me.
She continued to scream for over 5 minutes when my eyes meet who was making the sound.

Last Friday night I was an absolute failure as a parent. My response was everything I tell you NOT to do.

Samantha had over reacted to playing with magna-tiles for the umpt-teeth time. (Literally every time she gets them out she ends up yelling, be frustrated, and trying to break them because they are not cooperating.) Frankly, after the 3rd time it happened, I should have simply removed from the room for a while. I was mad at myself for not doing this.

The other day, I came across this fantastic article: I Didn't Ask For Your Opinion On My Psych Meds. The article goes on to talk about how his choice to medicate is his choice and because he has made this choice; is not an open invitation for any opinions, suggestions, or concerns related to his medications. He goes on to talk about how his life has vastly improved because of his choice to take these medications.

Over the last 6 years I have been thrown into the world of nutrition like I never expected to be. When Samantha was around 2 and attending preschool, every morning on the way to school she would complain that her tummy would hurt. There were several mornings she would get car sick and throw up. We would turn around to go home, get cleaned up, and try again. Then at home she began complaining her tummy hurt. This went on for about 3 weeks, happening all the time. I had it. I couldn't take that she was hurting and I had no idea why. So we began tracking.

When Samantha was 3-1/2 I had a hunch she was about to be kicked out of pre-school. I was a mess and at constant war with myself. I was working, filling orders, designing events, trying to grow a business. Then I would get that call telling me to come get my "crazy" daughter and take her home. My whole day...completely derailed. Then at home I would stand at the counter with my laptop or my glue gun, trying to get work done while Samantha played until she would come stand between me and my work to push me away. (Honestly, I am embarrassed to admit this.)

The other day I was scrolling through my Facebook news feed, checking on what my family and friends are doing. As I scrolled I kept seeing other parents kids all dressed up for dance recitals, holding up awards for soccer,  getting ready to go on vacation, participating in basketball, swimming, martial arts or whatever. My heart sank, as I was reminded that my child doesn't do any of those things. Parent Child Envy struck.

Yesterday I was at Samantha's school helping sort some items from a recent event I assisted with. As I was sorting and listening to the other ladies I could hear their burn out. They began to speculate on who would run the event next year, and who would take over the parent organization. They went on to discuss how much work was involved in each of those and that it's too much for one person to take on both. One lady chuckled a bit while stating how she loved to tell people "No" because she was doing this instead. It was that statement that lead to this post today.

This Halloween weekend I realized I have been failing my daughter... BIG TIME!

It first became obvious after Samantha sat in mustard in her brand new, custom made, My Little Pony "pinkie pie" costume. She hadn't even made it to trick-or-treating and had already stained it, with mustard all over her face, on her sleeve, and on one of the neighbor kid's coats. Grrrrrrrr! She is extremely messy.

When your child is in meltdown mode, seconds seem like minutes, and minutes seem like hours. It horrible. The screaming, the yelling, the kicking. As parents with a child  who constantly struggles on a daily basis these meltdowns are exhausting and so emotionally charged that it effects everyone in your home. Maybe you have tried a few things, but nothing seems to work. (That was us too). Over the last 4 years of  addressing Samantha's issues we have become very, very, very good at turning her from meltdown mania to a happy girl.

I don't know about you, but I couldn't stand when my mother nagged me as a child. It was a constant stream of reminders of how to act, what not to do, or simply a way to suck all the fun out of being a kid - or so I thought until I became a parent. I now understand why my mother had to remind me to do something at least a thousand times. Now, with the struggles we face on a daily basis, I tread a fine line between helping my child remember and being a huge nag.