the best of intentions

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about our hypothetical children. Bill and I decided very early on that, when the time came, we wanted to have kids. (For the record, that time has not come yet.) If there had been any dispute regarding this topic, there would be no “we.” But for the longest time, that’s as far as our discussions went—minus the occasional “our kids are gonna starve because we’re such bad cooks” joke. 

Of course, I’ve spent quite a bit of time silently wondering about them—about their tiniest details. I’ve imagined little boys playing in the dirt, learning to ride bikes, wanting to ride four-wheelers, trying to throw a baseball twice the size of their hands. I’ve imagined little girls in tiaras and tutus, with chocolate on their cheeks and music in their hearts. I’ve compiled a list of baby names eight pages long. I’ve prayed that they’ll inherit Bill’s smile, my eyesight, his height, my optimism, his calm demeanor, my energy and his coordination (or at least not inherit my lack thereof). 

But lately, I’ve been thinking much less about the things they’ll inherit from us and much more about the lessons they’ll learn from us. I suppose it’s because we seem to be surrounded by pregnancy and small children these days, but I have been worrying a lot more about just how we’re going execute this loosely formed plan to raise perfect little pumpkins. 

I think it’s only natural for adults, female adults anyways, to criticize our own childhoods. Sometimes I wish I’d gotten in trouble more often, that I hadn’t been so serious. I wish I hadn’t quit ballet, that I’d practiced more for band, that I’d actually stuck with a sport—or at least that I’d fought a little harder for my place on the cheerleading squad. I wish I’d had more confidence and that I’d cried a few less tears. But in my heart of hearts, I know that each side of the decision coin comes with its own drawbacks and its own pain. I know that no matter what choices I’d made, I’d probably be sitting here as an adult thinking about how things could have been different.

I just worry that, as many parents do, I might project all my adolescent regrets on those hypothetical angels. I worry that in wanting what’s best for them—in looking out for them—I’ll lose my ability to actually see them. I believe a child’s demeanor is a clear reflection of the adult they’ll one day become, if allowed to do so.

I guess what it comes down to is that I can’t seem to figure out how strongly or gently you guide them through life. There are so many things about parenting that I don’t yet know. I believe a lot of those things can be learned along the way. But I feel that steering their choices is the kind of thing that can get out of control if, rather early on, you don’t have an agreed upon plan and make the conscious effort to stick it. 

And considering I’m still undecided on this matter, I can’t help but wonder…

Is it the kind of thing that differs for every parent or differs for every child?

Do some kids need more guidance than others?

Maybe we simply have to do our best to respond to each child’s needs, and in doing so we have to let our philosophy flex and change.

Maybe I’ll just ask Momma… 

Personally, I believe in the power of the New Year—the magic of fresh starts, clean calendars, and high hopes. It’s not that I believe we can all completely erase the past and totally redefine ourselves with the changing of the year. The only transformation the stroke of midnight ever elicited was that of carriage to pumpkin. Fairytale stuff. 

But I do believe that, if given the opportunity and the support of our peers and loved ones, we’re all capable of small changes. But even alterations small enough that those around us may not notice, can be powerful enough to change our lives.

Maybe I’m a little biased in my defense of resolutions—or rather, those who make resolutions—because I’m full of them this year. My main goal is to have a socially monotonous year and the time and energy to make small, personal gains. 

Last year was full of big, life-changing events. The husband and I became the husband and I; we moved twice; bought a house; took our first, adult vacation; said good-bye to Grandpa; met our nephew; renovated our kitchen, our bathroom, and purchased new windows; started three new jobs between us; got a new vehicle; and logged at least 10,000 highway miles. Last year was utterly and completely exhausting. 

So this year, I’m aiming for settled and subtle.

That’s all irrelevant here, however. My point is to defend those who are brave enough to make resolutions from those who feel the need to criticize. The most obvious example I have is all the self-proclaimed gym rats complaining on Facebook about their suddenly over-crowded gym. I understand that it is inconvenient for you to have to choose a different elliptical machine or do your squats before your lunges. But I would argue that your sacrifice is minuscule compared to the other’s gain. And yes, the newbie might not know how to use that machine you probably can’t live without. But instead of rolling your eyes and turning up your iPod, maybe you could help out. Maybe you could offer a tip and some encouragement. 

So, if your thoughts on New Year’s Eve were about how you didn’t need to make any resolutions because you already go the gym every day, maybe you should try to spend 2011 being a little less selfish.

That’s my soapbox. And for the record, my resolution—to write more—has me feeling better already. 

The most important thing I learned in 2010 is that there is a difference between knowing something and coming to terms with it. I’ve always known that you can’t change people. But this year, I finally understand that you are left with a choice—to either take someone exactly as they are, or to let them go. That is probably the most difficult thing in life for me, that choice. I’ve never believed in lost causes and letting go of someone leaves me feeling like I gave up. As the kind of person who defines life by relationships, finally quitting on people who once held such a crucial place in my heart is the ultimate failure.

So in all plausible situations, I have learned to take people as they are. It’s not easy and I still feel twinges of disappointment, but I do it because nobody is perfect. And everybody has dozens of people in their life who need them and rely on them. We can’t always take care of everybody who needs us. But for those who I know always approach me with the best of intentions, I do the same for you. I love you for who you are and I value the contributions you make to my life, even when they are few and far between. I understand that true friendship is not defined by the frequency of our encounters, but by the sincerity that fuels them.

And when I am really left without a choice—when someone no longer values my friendship enough to genuinely concern themselves with my best interest—to those, I bid farewell in 2011. I have accepted that some people may simply be overwhelmed by the other things and people in their life. In some relationships I have spent years holding grudges, saying mean things and pointing the blame. I would be lying if I said I’ve always been the bigger person. But this year, I am gifting to myself the chance to let all that go. With no animosity or contempt, I let you go. I genuinely wish you the very best of everything and as I move on, I will take with me only the best memories.

If you’re reading this and wondering which, if either category applies to you, all I can say is thank you enough for caring. If you are reading this and applying it to the people in your life, I wish you the best of luck with what for me has been one of the most difficult struggles. This little half hour of a post has helped me move on from negativity and to complete the first of my new year’s resolutions.

To everyone, I hope 2011 is generous to you and yours.

*For the record, everyone pictured is someone I’m holding onto with both hands.