The Death (and Re-birth) of Hope

I found myself in an emotional state tonight, so what better way to get me outside of myself than by delving deep into someone else's sordid inner life by way of a little random blog reading? Perhaps I would find someone who could take me out of my own issues for a little while, or at the very least, allow me to laugh at their miseries for a bit while thanking my lucky stars I don't have *their* problems.

One of my first selections was a parenting blog that caught my eye with a title along the lines of "Calm, Centered Parenting" or some such thing. In hindsight, I am shocked at the cynicism I displayed in choosing that blog for I surely thought that it would be a tongue-in-cheek blog written by someone at least half as crazy as myself, bemoaning the challenges of a profession that can, on days, cause one to dream of small, cloistered rooms with rows of torture devices whose sole purposes are to enforce a Cease and Desist order amongst rival sibling factions. Replete with gags and shackles. I mean, really, how can anyone use the words 'calm' and 'centered' in the same sentence as parenting?

But when I clicked on it, to my initial dismay I discovered that it was exactly what it purported to be. It was calm, verging on sedate, and infused with an inner groundedness that made one realize that HERE was a woman who had really done some inner soul searching. Her prose was calm, cathartic, and ultimately peaceful. She spoke of her day, of herself, of the passing of time. Nowhere did she mention her child/ren. Other than a quote from La Leche League, there was no evidence at all that she was, indeed, a parent. That inner cynic (that I was unaware lived so ardently inside my head until now) quickly concluded that she was either 1.) a poser, 2.) a psychotic woman who clearly had figured out the art of maintaining inner calm whilst honing her bondage skills on her poor little vixens or 3.) still pregnant with her first.

Now, the fact that this calm, peaceful blog dismayed me most likely speaks volumes about the condition of my psyche (not to mention my parenting) to those reading this (let's hope none of you hold psych degrees). I went into that blog a smartass, a warrior from the front lines who stands knee-deep in the thick of it and can't see anything other than the trees from where she is right now. But as I read, I began to remember the hopefulness with which I started this whole crazy venture. I remembered the time when I put 360% into it - when I read book after book about child development and all of it's derivatives (inlcuding an entire library on parenting atypical children) in an effort to be the best parent I could be. When I threw so much of myself into it that when I finally let my head surface I found that I had completely lost me in the process. And with that realization, and the subsequent struggle to dig her out of the mire and dust her off, I somehow brushed away a lot of that hopefulness and was left with a bit of a fatalistic, survivalistic attitude.

And I'm not sure I like that. Some days it is hard to see that it can be anything other than the way it is, but I think I need to find that hopefulness again: the hope that my kids can and WILL make it to adulthood without any major charges filed against them in a court of law; that they can and WILL be productive members of society rather than living with me until they are 30; and that they will be beautiful little souls in the process.

Somehow, in spite of their mom, they will prevail. Or maybe because of her. Who can really say for sure?