Celebrating the victories.

The day was long.

I mean, it was one of those long days. And we were in the middle of it. There was so much to do, so much I'd already done, and the time was slipping away faster than the early spring daylight.

Over the last few months, we've tasked ourselves with more than a handful of special projects, focusing on their completion, sometimes wearily after the completion of our day jobs. After we put the little one to bed and when most people would be sinking into their sofas with a good book or the most recent binge-worthy show, we were in front of our laptops, desk lamps illuminating whatever it was we were working on at the time. The clock would tick, our eyelids would feel the gravity of the day pulling them closed, and we worked until we weren't doing these projects justice. 

The alarm clock would cheerily sing in the morning, and we'd do it all again the next day. Projects have deadlines, people.

The Climb.

It was feeling like we were climbing a mountain that we couldn't see the top of. We didn't know if there was a top, if the effort would be worth the climb. But we were climbing that mountain, damn it, because opportunities to be your creative selves (with your husband, doing stuff you both love) don't come every day. But that mountain, it was steep. Who am I kidding....it still is. And we had to climb the mountain after Elsie was in bed because if we didn't, if we prioritized time to work over time with her, well...we might miss out on a beautiful moment, or in this case, learn something about ourselves that we really needed to know.

So on this early spring day, between the breakfast battles and the bathtime bubbles, the sun made a rare appearance. "Outside, Mama, outside." For you moms-of-toddlers out there, you will feel me when I say I blame that phrase on the Bubble Guppies and now it will be stuck in your heads, too. Anyway, we put on our boots and jackets and headed outside.

"Line up, line up. Everybody line up. It's time to go outside." See, there it is.

In our particular outside, we are lucky to have a few acres of land, which my husband has manicured into a motocross track, mini bike track, and go-kart track. These activities and experiences are part of why our land is deemed Lancaster Land. Elsie and I walk the ups and downs of the track, splashing in mud puddles and weaving in and out of the tall pine trees. 

We come to one of the jumps. We walk up, slowly, hand-in-hand. She looks at me, throws her hands in the air and exclaims, "Mama, I DID IT! I DID IT, Mama."

She sure did.

I looked down at her blonde curls, her grin stretching across her two-year-old face, and the pride beaming from her body. She did it. She was proud and I was proud of her. What seems like such a usual feat, a small hurdle to me, was worth celebrating to her. She felt a victory, and together we celebrated. 

And then I started thinking as we continued on our trek up and down and around, and back again. I was reflecting on all of my work lately, my accomplishments, and the work that the hubs and I had completed. I thought about the big goals and the small wins and even the losses that stung so hard.

I thought to myself, I want to be more like my two-year-old.

I want to celebrate the small victories. I want to climb a small hill on the path to climb the big mountain and I want to feel that win. Even though the summit might be so far away that I can't even see it, I want to celebrate the victory and take a moment to just feel good about where I'm at, not focusing on where I'm going. Although the next steps and the action plans and the to-do-lists will always be charging fast at you, the immediate feel-good, pat-on-the-back celebrations need to be slowed down for.

Every day, there's a reason to stand up, throw our hands in the air, and say (even if it's just to ourselves), I did it.

XOXO

Just fake it until you make it.

I'm probably a lot like you.

I'm good at some things. I'm really good at other things. I'm not-so-good at different things, and there are things that I just shouldn't do, ever.

And then there's a bucket full of things that I want to be good, or better at. There are those things that I've put on a list to learn, to invest time in, and that list is somewhere and hasn't seen a lot of action lately. I haven't crossed anything off in years. I could tell you that I'm too busy to work on them, which might be true. I could tell you that after all, I'm just not very good at them, which also might be true. But the truest reason for the inactivity is this: I'm just not confident enough to keep trying. 

There. I said it. I'm just not confident enough.

Earlier this week, our little girl saw the hand-me-down acoustic guitar in the corner of the living room, propped up against the wall, collecting a fair amount of dust. She tip-toed over to it (that's her thing these days and no, I have no idea where it came from), and asked me to sit next to her.

"Mama, sit."

I looked at her, smiled.

"Mama, sit."

So, I sat. I picked up the guitar. I grabbed the pick too. I pretended to know what I was doing. I put the pick between my thumb and finger and began to draw out a few terrible, off key sounds. I took my left hand and slid it up and down the guitar strings, pretending to find chords. I was faking it. But, her face lit up. Her tiny fingers reached for the strings, strumming. Her eyes were wide, looking up at me. We were playing the guitar, together.

"Mama, more!"

As we made awful music and pieced together made-up songs about our day, it hit me. When it comes to parenthood, lack of confidence just won't cut it. And letting my own excuses keep me from moments like these not only hurts me, but it hurts her too. Sometimes, we just have to fake it until we make it.

I may never learn to play the guitar. My list of "maybe someday" activities and talents might never get smaller. In all honesty, it will probably get bigger as I get older. But one thing that will never find its way on my personal wish list is standing back because I'm not the best at something. When it comes to our family, our daughter, I'll do my very best to sit when she says "mama, sit."

Like I said, you are probably a lot like me. You're probably good at some things. You're probably really good at other things. You're probably not-so-good at different things. Let's not the things we're not one-hundred-percent-awesome at keep us from doing them, and doing them with the people we love. Maybe perfection isn't perfect. Maybe, just maybe, perfect, to us, is being there. Perfect is showing up, sitting down, and playing the guitar.