Parent Teacher Conferences...

A few days ago, I found myself headed to my first ever parent-teacher conference. (Dim lights, cue haunting music and issue verbal reminder that I'm getting OLD! Okay, not old, but still...) Here are my random acts of writing from that day, aka: here is the broken mess that I am, the real, honest Amy.

Today I cried.
Scared tears. Fearful tears. Tears stained with the shame of insecurity and doubt. Tears heavy with the weight of imperfection.
I’m ADD. There’s no hiding it. And for years I lived unable to complete projects, a type-A person’s nightmare, with no real understanding of why. I felt like I wasn’t working hard enough. I was just lazy. I was all sorts of not enough.
The truth is, I was ADD. And so when I look back on school, I still legitimately cannot tell you how I finished and up until college, with straight A’s. I don’t know how I got to here. I remember backpacks lined with papers and the scared impulse that raged through my body as I searched for my homework, just hoping that it was actually there this time. School was fear. Fear that I’d forgotten one more project. Fear that there was no way I could complete X, Y or Z, let alone all three.
And now I’m a mom…of a preschooler. Let’s go revisit every feeling of inadequacy twice and then add a huge heaping pile of guilt because I feel like I’m constantly holding my child back.
Today was parent teacher conferences. I don’t know how many moms cried on their way to their meeting. But I did. I cried because I was so scared of what I would hear. “Amy, you can’t seem to remember anything. You’re raising a child that can’t focus… You need to get your act together because you’re failing your child.” I cried because I remembered I had forgotten their Christmas presents that I had planned on bringing. I cried because I realize I’m raising my child in a very different way because I’m a very different mom and it could bring her heartache and pain.
And then, I laughed. I couldn’t seem to pull myself together. And I was so ashamed of my broken messiness. I didn’t want them to see. I didn’t want to be the mom who couldn’t get her stuff together. Because all the other moms seem to have it together. But the truth is, I don’t. And I’m not so ashamed anymore.


God can’t work with me when I try to hide my mess. But He can meet me here in my mess. So there ya go, world. I struggle to be a mom. I get scared that I’m prepping my daughter to have a crazy brain. I can’t be consistent because I can’t remember. But I love her. And I pray that somehow God will always help her to be sure of that. And even though because of how I work, it means a lot of challenges, I wouldn’t change it. I love the way I see things. I love the way I notice things. It makes me the quirky person I am. It helps me see things like families and weddings in a way that others might not. But it also means a hard road for the people I love the most. And that part breaks my heart. But it leaves me incredibly grateful that they love me. Oh, that I will extend that love and graciousness to others…


And because pictures make everything better, here's a couple of my favorite little man and one of my favorite little ladies. Who knows, it could be love...