I’d like to argue that it is because of the fact that my sleep is interrupted several times a night that it is difficult for me to get up each morning. Regardless, after hitting snooze on my iPhone a few times, I usually wake up to Taye taking pictures of me with my phone. I thought that I’d put an end to this ritual by activating a password on my phone, but she just punches random numbers into the keypad until it deactivates my phone completely. At least this way, I don’t have to come up with a reason (good enough for her) for why she can’t use my phone.

I don’t know how, but we get out of bed and drag across the hall in a sort of sleepy parade to their room where we pick out clothes. Rain is easy. He just likes the waist bands of his pants to be tight and he doesn’t want his shirts to be too big – easy enough. Taye is more of a challenge. She wants me to pick out her outfit, but every morning, I know the first one will be rejected. So we act out this short play. I pick out an outfit. She rejects it. She picks it out, but I have to pick it out of the drawer, and then I help her put it on. The outfits, since it has been cold, usually consist of a dress, leggings, a long-sleeved shirt, and a sweater. They never match, but she always pulls it off. This may sound a ridiculous process, but it is actually easier and more harmonious than imposing my own methods and tastes. They say choose your battles wisely and it is just too early to battle with this one.

Once they are dressed, we move on to the kitchen. The lovelies sit down at the table while I make and serve them breakfast. I sometimes gauge whether it is a good morning or not by whether or not they start arguing over who has more cereal in their bowl, or bragging about who I love more based on whose bowl I put down on the table first. I am getting better and better at moving my hands at the exact same pace. One day those bowls will clang at exactly the same mili-second. I usually manage to make a cup of tea while this is all going on and while they eat their breakfast, I make their lunches. They love to yell requests and comments from the dining room table while I’m doing this. “I don’t want carrots.” “I do.” “I want my apple cut in pieces.” “I don’t want anything with bread.” “I want something in a container that is supposed to be hot. But I want it to be cold.” I’ve just learned to say, “Ok.” No matter what – OK.

When breakfast is eaten and lunches are packed, we move to the front door to put on shoes and sweaters and to be strategically placed to don backpacks and get out the door. Then I run into the bathroom – brush my hair and teeth and put in my contacts and zig zag around the kids into my room where I get dressed in less than five minutes. I grab something resembling breakfast ( a grapefruit or someone’s leftovers) and my mug of tea, the keys, my purse, my computer, the kids and we shuffle to the car. Usually, Taye demands that I carry her, though my hands are already beyond full. She sits in protest while I drop my stuff in the car. I return to the front stoop to scoop her up and get her in the car.

Our morning can feel like a relay race. It can feel like a test.  I reread this and think – who would want to live this morning over and over again?  But I do. At least, I do most of the time. I have the occasional fantasy about waking up in a quiet house, savoring a cup of tea while I read my favorite book in bed, and then taking my sweet time to get ready for the day on my own. But if I was offered up the choice – I’d opt for my less than glamourous life every time.

I wouldn’t ever trade –  the sound of little feet racing to my bed, the dreams whispered into my ears from raspy voices, the fashion breakthroughs, the hilarious and bizarre requests, or the goodbye hugs when I’m dropping them off at school – for a quiet morning.

For the first few years we lived there, my mom and dad worked from home. My dad had since stopped pursuing his masters degree and was dedicating his time to building up a small printing business. Initially printing was a craft he’d learned from his father, and he was printing to put himself through school. I’m not sure when he decided that he could just -be- a printer. Regardless, my mom helped him with the business development and we grew up in the midst of it all.

Most of the time, we kids were outside – running through cow pastures, up and down the creek that runs through the property, in and out of little pockets of woods, up in trees, under the house, and in our secret hideouts. Sometimes we were just running around in a type of blissful hysteria. It sounds idyllic and it was. This, in essence, was my childhood.

In a family of six, there is a lot of inherent chaos to the daily regimen. The one constant for us was dinner time. We rarely missed a meal. It wasn’t often fancy, but was always plentiful. There was a lot of talk about work between my mom and dad, accounts of our days at school, updates on our social lives, and the occasional lively disagreement. It really didn’t matter what we were talking about. It was more the coming together that helped to shape us as a family.

I was 18 when my grandpa died and my grandma decided to move closer to us. My mom started hosting a Sunday dinner at my parent’s house. Since then, my grandma has also passed, but we’ve added four little ones to the mix. Every Sunday, we all (minus my younger brother Tyler who recently moved to Boston) make our way out to the farm. We usually arrive in time to stuff our selves with snacks and cocktails while the kids play in the living room and mom finishes dinner. She dedicates the better part of every weekend planning, shopping, and preparing this meal. But it isn’t -just- a meal.

It is a tradition. And, sometimes, feels like it’s what holds us together now that we don’t all live under the same roof. It is easy to take it all for granted until I see the way my kid’s faces light up when they realize it is Sunday. They are always so excited to see everyone. We sit down around the table and share dinner. The conversation hasn’t really even changed much. But that is a comfort.

I like the thought that I’m passing on this sense of family to my own kids. I think they have it even better than we did.  Each Sunday we offer our kids something to cherish and to remember. These memories can last forever and can become the foundation for how they build their own families when the time comes.

This feral type of mothering did eventually loosen its hold on my mind and, we began to slowly and gently unveil the great big world to Rain’s large, deerish eyes. He took an immediate liking to it, and as I watched him develop and grow, it began to dawn on me, that I couldn’t possibly provide him with all that he needed to flourish. I had to come to terms with the fact that, though I was his mother, and forever bonded to him, he would need more than I, alone, could give.

This became exceedingly clear once he fostered serious interests in wildlife ecology, sailing, and the Vikings, to name a few. He has a knack for seeking out the experts in their fields from within our community of family and friends. It is not uncommon to find him discussing the lesser known things about the platypus with his Grandma Celeste, the detailed steps of tying a bowline or a cleat hitch with his sea-captain friend Loren, or his favorite Norse myths with his Ama Jane.

I love eavesdropping on these conversations. I get to experience Rain from afar – to hear him think out loud, form questions, problem-solve, converse about things he is interested in with other people, learn what kinds of things make him laugh. It forces me to acknowledge the bittersweet fact that he is separate from me – complete with his own likes and dislikes, his own thoughts, his own dreams. It comforts me to know how many people he has in his life to love and protect him, and help to raise him.

As a new parent I thought it was my duty to learn everything there was to know and to do it by myself. Now I know better. Rain has taught me, more than anyone else ever could have, that raising a family is like raising a barn – it takes a village.

Taye is willful, to put it plainly. She is an energetic, exuberant, complex and gleeful person who has effortlessly managed to wrap me tightly around her little finger. When she is well-rested and well-fed she is charming. When she is exhausted or hungry (or both) she can be tyrannical and terrifying.

Admittedly, she takes after her mom. When I’m relaxed, I can deal effectively with Taye’s outbursts, but after a long day, I find myself battling to stay calm, to not raise my voice, to not behave just like my tired Taye, herself. Because sometimes, I just want to lie down on the kitchen floor, pound my fists and kick my feet in the air too.

As I vented to my friend, he was visiting various websites and forums focused on ways to discipline (and sometimes just tolerate) children throwing temper tantrums. (The consensus was: Don’t lose your temper and ignore their bad behavior; eventually they’ll stop their tirade and life will go on.) Though happy to offer some advice and/or encouragement regarding my current parenting conundrum, my friend was amazed and bewildered at my admission that I was parenting, in his eyes, blindly. How could I be raising two children without having done the necessary research? Wasn’t I terrified of messing up? Doing the wrong thing?

To be honest, it never occurred to me to consult with books, articles, or forums in order to be a mom. I mean to say, that from the moment I became aware that I was to be a mother, it felt as if I would just know what to do. I think I have my own mother to thank for that genuine, albeit delusional, vote of self-confidence. I’ve since learned that it is okay to not know the answer, to need help, and I’m learning to ask for help when I do.

We receive our first lessons and impressions about how to be parents when we, ourselves, are children. The adults who raise us and the families we are a part of, show us how to be parents – for better or worse. Our early family experiences become the foundations of the families we come to create. I was lucky enough to have an amazing family complete with two amazing parents – and hopefully absorbed enough love, patience, compassion, and wonder to be the great mom that I am constantly striving to be. Fortunately, there are plenty of books, websites, and friends if these virtues prove to not -always- be enough.

I know that, even with all the tools I’ve been given, I’m going to need all the help I can get. Tayeko is on to me, and she’s only growing wiser to my weaknesses by the minute. It is a good thing these tantrums are well-balanced with the seductive wit and charm that only a three-year old girl can possess.

There are most definitely moments of complete and utter hopelessness – moments when I feel overwhelmed, inadequate, frustrated, and simply unqualified, to be a parent at all. These are the moments when the rock-solid foundation I inherited is most important and valuable. It keeps me up off the kitchen floor (most of the time). What do people do that weren’t given this foundation? How do they cope? Where do they turn?No parent is perfect. We all know the feeling of making mistakes. We all say and do things we wish we could do over. We all deserve support because parenting just isn’t easy.

Child Care Publications, Inc. (www.childcarepub.net) is a response to these needs and an offering. We hope that our resources will provide the beginnings of support and repair that we parents need so that we can, in turn, offer our children the love and support that they deserve.