I wasn't always an easy child for my mother to raise. Looking back, I'm so ashamed of the way that I treated her at times. I am amazed that she didn't lock me in a closet and throw away the key. There were days that it would have been so much easier for her to just run away and wash her hands of me... easier to cut her losses and give up on the mean girl that I had become. But she didn't. She loved me.

The older I got, the more difficult I became. I hated the world. Especially her. To this day, I honestly don't know why. Every drop of teenage angst that flowed through my veins was hurled at her... my poor mother. I spewed venomous words and called her unthinkable names. I betrayed her trust and revealed her secrets. I favored my father and never missed an opportunity to throw it in her face. I blamed her and ignored her and belittled her. But, somehow, through it all, she loved me.

As I entered adulthood, my mental health began to deteriorate. Confused, embarrassed, and feeling alone, I confided in my mother. She listened. She understood. She comforted me, the way only a mother can. When I felt overwhelmed and out of control, my mother held me in her arms and rocked me like a baby. When I was at my lowest of lows, she raised me back up. When I was surrounded by the darkness of sorrow and ready to jump, she showed me light and talked me down off the ledge. When I felt like I couldn't move forward, my mother carried me with her kindness. She loved me.

Now that I'm grown, with children of my own, I can't imagine how hard it must have been on her to raise such an ungrateful and disrespectful daughter. After her own painful upbringing, she didn't deserve the things I did to her... the hateful words I said to her... the evil way I treated her. She didn't deserve it, but she endured it. Not because she had to. It was because she loved me.



I love you, Little Momma!

Be sure to check out my amazing mother at MiMi Needs Meds. Read the stories of her life, marvel at her strength, and be inspired by her bravery.

As a mother of 5 small children, I used to think that my job was solely to mold my kids into what I thought they should be. I thought it was all about teaching and leading and always being the perfect example of what is right and good. I was never aware that I had omitted a huge part of motherhood... very possibly the single most important component in my role as a mother. Somehow, I never realized that it is just as vital to let my children lead, teach, and be an example for me. I now understand that I need to be more like my children...

My first-born, Miss Priss, inspires me. At 9 years old, she has become a shining example of self-confidence and contentment. She has always been this way. For example, when she was 6, she decided that she wanted to start soccer. It was her first time to play a team sport, and she was inevitably placed on a team of girls who had been on the same team for 4 seasons already. My daughter was by far the smallest girl on her team, and as much as it pains me to say it, she was also the slowest. She had no knowledge of the rules of the game, let alone strategy or plays. All this aside, she loved to play. As she would trail behind the other girls while chasing the ball, my heart would break for her. I would wish with every fiber of my being that her little legs could just go faster. Without fail, though, she would come off the field, anything but defeated... "Momma, did you see how fast I was running? I'm getting so good at this!" She didn't compare herself to anyone else. She lets her own personal best be her triumph.

Sometimes, she looks in the mirror for awhile, gazing intently at herself. Now, when I do this, it's with the sole purpose of taking a mental inventory of all the things that I hate about my face and body. This is not the case for my baby girl. "Momma, I'm really pretty." She says this not because she's full of herself, but because she truly loves what she sees being reflected back at her. I need to be more like her. I need to love myself more. I need to find victory in myself.

Sensitiva is 7 years old. Her twin sister was very small and sick as a baby, and required a lot of extra attention. She has a big sister and a little sister, leaving her to be the "middle" girl. She has always been lost somewhere in the middle. She has a classic case of Middle Child Syndrome, which has given her reason to be insecure at times. She has always felt, justifiably, that she has to work harder to get attention. The effect that MCS has had on her hasn't been completely negative, though. Sensitiva is acutely aware of other people's feelings. Out of the goodness of her heart, she performs random acts of kindness. Small favors here and there, when she senses that someone is in need. The most amazing part of her thoughtfulness, though, is not in the act itself. The best part is the way that she always says "You're welcome" before being thanked. I find it inspiring that she sees enough good in people to automatically assume that they will say "Thank you". I need to be more like her. I need to open my heart to the goodness of others without any proof that goodness actually exists. I need to be more selfless.

Next in line is Tiny T. We call her "the runt of the litter". When she received surgery at 2 weeks old, she weighed less than 4 pounds. She was smaller and more frail than her twin sister. Seven years later, my Tiny T is a free spirit. She answers to no one. She is stubborn and strong-willed, opinionated and self-assured. My youngest daughter takes in every particle of the world around her. Over the years, she has developed a sort of sixth sense, always knowing what to say or do to lift your spirit. She magically and silently appears when I'm feeling down or overwhelmed, her tiny arms wide open. That girl gives amazing hugs. She always knows just the right moment to slip her tiny hand into that of her twin sister, because she can feel that Sensitiva is uncomfortable or insecure in her surroundings. No words are necessary with Tiny T... she always just knows. I need to be more like her. I need to be more free-spirited. I need to be more perceptive to the feelings of others.

Then, there's G-Bear. At 4 years old, he is the perfect mix of strength and softness. Being the first-born son, he has an innate desire to be like his daddy. He tries so hard to be big and strong. He puts on his game face and pretends that things don't hurt, physically or emotionally. He wants to be a man. However, in those quiet moments when he thinks no one is watching, he is just a boy. He cries when he scrapes his knee or when he feels left out of his sisters' fun. He is eager to give compliments, open doors, and other things that classify him as a "gentleman". He loves being called a gentleman. G-Bear is silly and strong, soft and sweet. I need to be more like him. I need to find a balance between all the different parts of me. I need to be all the different parts of me.

Last, but not least, there is my 6-month-old, Lil Dude. I was so worried during my pregnancy with him that he would somehow feel like a "replacement baby". I got pregnant with him 3 short months after I miscarried, which seemed so soon. The pain of losing our baby was still so new. I wondered if I could ever really feel the happiness of new life, after experiencing the soul-crushing grief of death. The wounds were fresh and open. After a very stressful high-risk pregnancy, Lil Dude came into the world healthy and beautiful. From that first second, he has shown me that happiness is possible after such sorrow. Our family was not complete without him. I need to be more like him. I need to bring light into the lives of people who feel like there can only be darkness. I need to keep my heart open to the light of others.

Of all the lessons I've learned as a mother, the most important is this:

Rather than worrying about shaping my children into what/who I think they should be, I should relax sometimes and take my cues from them. I should learn to love and accept myself, regardless of how I compare to others. I should open my heart to the goodness of others, without demanding proof that they are worthy of my approval. I should be more perceptive to the feeling of those around me. I should find balance within myself. I should be a beacon in someone's darkness. I should marvel at the way the leaves twist and turn as the wind gently pushes through the trees. I should find simple joy in the way a rolie-polie curls into a tiny ball and tickles the palm of my hand. I should spend more time focused on how truly blessed I am by the chaos of 5 beautiful children and the endless messes that they make.

My children are my best teachers, and I am eager to discover all the lessons that they have in store for me over the years to come. Today, they have taught me that in order to have such amazingly awe-inspiring children, I must be doing something right.

Maybe I'm not such a bad mom, after all.