Celebrating with a full heart
I feel like I am the worst mom in the world. I know I’m not, yet I can’t shake the feeling that I am. I don’t beat my kids or deprive them of food. I don’t scream or swear much or say derogatory words. They have bedrooms and toys and clothing and are not sleeping on a hard wooden floor with no blankets. They live in a small house, but it has a decent backyard and we even had a pool for a bit. They have four furry animals that roam our space too. My kids have their basic needs met. They have food and shelter and friends. They have a decent life; one of privilege, but they don’t see it that way.
The last several years, they have squeezed every bit of possible joy out of the way. They are some of the most unhappy children I have ever met in my life. They don’t celebrate birthdays or even care about holidays. Nothing is ever important. I hate that neither of them is ever excited about anything.
This week they both have birthdays. It is the last week of March. I started asking them in January what they wanted to do. Did they want a party? A special adventure with mom? An activity with a friend? A trip? Did they want to do something separately or together? Their birthdays are two years and seven hours apart. Though they each have their own day we have almost always celebrated them together.
