Sherri Cornelius

I wonder if I'm a good parent. I worry my kids feel they can't talk to me. I fear I'm too strict lenient strict.

I know how my childhood affected my behavior as an adult. I've seen the same path in others who were raised in very similar circumstances, and in those who were not. I'm wondering if anyone in the world actually grows up to be a healthy, well-adjusted adult, because I don't know many, and the ones I do know are in middle age and have worked through most of their issues. So what are the chances my kids will grow up healthy? Right now it seems like nothing I do will prevent teen pregnancy, alcoholism/drug abuse, and depression. It's all around me.

Right now the problems are manageable, but how do I know which grain of dysfunction will grow into the pearl of self-destruction?

At times the kids seem to doubt my love. (Well, the older two. The 7-year-old has confidence like I've never seen. So far.) On one level I don't understand how this is possible, with all the sacrifices I've made to be a SAHM and to keep the family together, though logically I know they don't see it because they are children. I try for just the right blend of understanding and stern, make every effort to let them be independent while still being involved, demonstrate that I'm a person of worth and so are they.

But some days it appears I've had that balance wrong this whole time. Or, more likely, there is no ideal balance and the whole thing is hopeless. They are children of the world, and the world chews up children and spits them out all the time. And there's nothing I can do about it.

Reading back over this, I sound a bit manic and controlling. That's not how I feel, I just feel frustrated and a bit lost. Another way to look at this whole situation is that I am doing a good job, and since I can't control how my kids see me, I can just relax.

Anyway, that's what's on my mind today. Anybody got any stories in this vein they'd like to share?

My youngest daughter turned five yesterday. Gone are the days when I slave to clean house and decorate the perfect cake with frosting made from scratch and fret that my child isn't getting a blow-out bash like it seems every other child in her class gets every single year. Nope, I don't do that stuff anymore. Yesterday I spent a lot of time talking with Maggie about when she was in my belly and what it was like to hold her for the first time and how happy I am she's here. I didn't clean the house at all, let her direct me in where to place the store-bought decorations upon her cake, and took only one picture. The actual party lasted about 7.5 minutes, but she also got to tell us what to do all day, so I think she got her money's worth.

That was a lot of compound sentences. I'm too lazy to edit this morning. Sorry.

I was awakened this morning by a dream in which I was walking through a town at night, and someone was shining a light on me. I'd manage to get out of the light, but it found me again, and I got the feeling the guy was following me. I was scared, but not scared enough yet to go to the house whose yard I was trying to hide in. I peered back in the direction of the light to see what I could see. After a few moments of trying to see past a small bush, the light faded and I slowly realized the small bush was my ceiling light fixture. In real life. I wish I could have seen what I looked like, staring panicked and wide-eyed at the ceiling in my sleep. I bet I looked weird...er than usual.

I won't recount the rest of the dream, but I will say it contained a lengthy portion where people thought I loved porn.