We all have our moments when we think: “Hey, that wasn’t so bad! Maybe I’m good at this parenting thing after all!” Moments when our kid says thank you without being prompted. Moments when she has a cold but remembers to sneeze into the crook of her elbow versus the top of her sister’s head. Moments when the kids are laughing together in the back seat of the car instead of whacking each others’ hands and wailing. Moments of pride in our kid and in our self.

And then we have those other moments.

Last December, I found an old book of photos and notes from my elementary school where I had recorded what I wanted to be when I grew up right alongside some hideous photos of my 2nd grade self in huge 80’s eyeglasses. I’d scrawled, “Writer.” I wrote the same thing in 3rd grade and again in 5th grade, after a truly bizarro 4th grade year when I’d decided I wanted to be a “model.” (I can only guess that my 3-inch long rat tail had inspired me to be in pictures.)