perfect. (part 2)

"Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect." Matthew 5:48

Every family carries a measure of dysfunction. I've never met one that is perfect. Sometimes the ones that appear the most perfect are, in fact, the most broken. Our McCarthy family was broken but  beautiful. I have a deep & loyal love for us. I'm grateful for the precious gift. Looking back helps in the moving forward and making sense. Much of the way I raised my kids and live my life is because of my experience with my mother. Growing up in a chaotic environment left me with a need for order & self-discipline. For control & peace. A happy family life. I may have thought there was such thing as a perfect mom. I poured myself passionately into the job.  I wanted to be the mom I wished mine had been.

Turns out. It wasn't as easy as it looked. I think for every one thing I got right... I got ten things wrong. Because "perfect" isn't a thing. We compare our insides to everyone else's outsides. It's a trick.
It's impossible to ever be enough. Luckily, I have wise kids. They never bought into the pressure. They pushed back. They've taught me and are teaching me about grace. About living a fearless life. Free of living up to expectations and conditions. Free of the need to prove themselves. Free to figure out who they are and where they're headed. Tattoos and all:)  perfect in their imperfections. They've been my best teachers in the school of mothering. Especially in the classroom of LeTTiNG GO.  My kids dazzle me. They're SO brave. So beautiful.

Jesus says to me 'be perfect ....be whole....include all your imperfections.  Be happy when you discover a new fault. When you screw up. Talk about it. Write about it. Be vulnerable. You won't have any grand illusions or reputation to live up to.  That's when all the greatness begins.' So. Yep. That's what I'm practicing. ❤️

perfect. (part 1)

"Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect." Matthew 5:48

I've started this post a hundred times in my head but never here. I hesitate because I'm not sure I know how to say it without sounding like I'm blaming or dis-honoring my mom. I want to understand. to love. to have compassion when I think of her. & I do.....though I haven't seen or spoken to her in so many years. I wrestle with all of it. Not often. But sometimes.  It helps to process it. Talk about it. Reconcile it. It's necessary to write it.
This isn't her story. It's a part of mine.

My mom was pregnant at 16. Married at 17. Had 3 babies by the time she was 19. (I can't even....) I don't think she ever recovered. She raised us and loved us but life was just an overwhelming struggle for her. In those days, depression & anxiety were not spoken of. Or even named. They were a well kept shameful secret. And so we lived in survival mode. From the street side we looked good. But on the inside it was chaos.  Most of my memories of my mom are of her in bed until afternoon. Three littles getting themselves ready for school. Walking home together making their own lunch & getting themselves back.  Dad coming home from work making us all dinner. Every room in the house a mess. Her mood temperamental. Some days ok. Some days Angry. Sad. Upset. Throwing things. Slamming doors. Sometimes all night.  I never really knew why. We NEVER talked about it. I just kept my little self on high alert. I TrIED ReALLyHard to do everything I could to MaKE her smile. KEEP her calm.  KEEP her from fighting with my dad. KEEP her from yelling & crying &crawling back into bed. I thought if I TriEd hard enough. Was GOOD enough. HELPFUL enough. CHEERFUL enough.....things would get better. But they never did. Because she didn't. She didn't really want to. She was the one who needed to want to. I finally learned that we can't fix each other.

I'm sad for my mom. I'm sad for the life&love& relationships she's missed out on.  But...being her daughter has taught me so much. About perfection. About mothering. About enough. About control. About shame. About wholeness. About health. About forgiveness.  About compassion. About grace. About mercy. About love. About God.  And for those things.....I'm so very thankful.

moving.

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights." James 1:17

I'm the bird. Jeff's the hand. We've learned to live a happy life together as the bird& the hand. I love change. Jeff likes familiar. I love new. Jeff likes old. I love to fly away. Jeff likes to settle in. I love moving. Jeff likes staying. So we stay...and then we move. We just moved. We've been married thirty years and this is our sixth move. (The bird isn't too crazy:).

Since I was little I've dreamed of living in Olde Stockdale. I've driven the neighborhood a zillion times noticing & admiring & breathing in the charm and history. Imagining the stories. The families born & raised. Many moving back to raise their own. Each house unique. Big. Small. Old. New. Fancy. Plain. Run-down. Fixed-up. Colonial. Spanish. Ranch. Traditional. Mid-century modern. Bungalows and mansions side by side. Gigantic trees and lush landscaping. This neighborhood so full of beauty & kind people whom we know and love. I thought it a brilliant idea to live here. My husband, because he loves me and because he's fabulous, agreed.

We found our new/old perfectly dreamy rambling cottage and sold our house to a dear friend. We were out in three weeks. Moved in with Mike&Kel for five weeks while escrow&paint&carpet and all such things were happening. So N O W.....we are moved IN. In. We live here. I can't stop smiling. It's fairytale-ish. Truly. Can't wait for the gatherings and celebrations & memories made and stories told here. We plan on adding to the L O V E & the H A P P Y of this precious old neighborhood. Come see us. You're all invited.

Mostly. I want to say T H A N K Y O U to Katy our friend&realtor. I called her Olivia Pope during the whole buying/selling process. She was absolutely our gladiator. Our fixer. Honest&Smart&Relentless. She made shit happen;)❤️

Also Mostly. T H A N K Y O U M&K for inviting us in when we were homeless. You're E A S Y &
F U N housemates. Such laughter & memories & wine!!!  We adore you. So glad you're ours.❤️

Finally & Most Mostly. Thank you J. The hand. The one who keeps me flying back to a safe place to land. You have made all my dreams come true. I couldn't possibly love you more.