You think you mow what you will do. You spend months, sometimes years telling yourself what you will do. What you won’t do. How you will be. How they will be. You are so sure of it.

Private school. Soccer. No sugar cereal. No TV except on weekends. No video games. No yelling. No fast food. Your kid will never act like that. They’d never sleep with me. I’d get rid of binkies at one. They’d potty train at two. They never wear mismatched clothes in public.

Man I was dumb. Deluded too. Nearly nine years later and I laugh at the woman who believed that. If I could, I’d go and flick myself on the back of the head, for ever believing that to be true.

No, that’s not really it. I wanted what we all want. Perfection. Happy. Beautiful. Everything wonderful. We want them to have better than us. No drama. No hatred. No heartache. Nothing that can’t be fixed quickly. I wanted to give my kids a life that only exists in Disney movies.

Here I sit, nearly nine years later. Three kids. No perfection in our lives. Public alternative school. Dance and gymnastics. We eat whatever is easy most of the time. I *may* have let them have cookies after breakfast, because I couldn’t think of a reason why not in the moment. I currently have one kid sleeping with me. Harrison very likely may take his Binky to college and I’m not even considering potty training him until next summer, when he’ll be nearly three. We watch TV and play video games. We play apps and taunt each other with our scores. And I know, this is just a small portion of our life. In fact, its the things that don’t truly matter. This I have learned.

Then comes the harder stuff. The explaining of life issues. Disease. Death. Divorce. Birds and the bees. *shudder* All things you don’t want to have to explain. Things you didn’t think about when picking out names and buying wee bitsy little socks. Which is okay. If we thought about those things, how hard it would be to explain those things, maybe we’d of not had children. I would have….but it would have given me pause. Yet, I didn’t think about it. I don’t think I thought much past kindergarten. There are good reasons for it.

I’ve managed to get through some of the hard conversations. They get it logically. Or Morgan does at least. The real hard part? Watching them hurt. Knowing I can’t do anything about it. Man, no one and nothing can prepare you for that. How do I stop that? Her hurts? I can’t seem too. Even small things are now beyond my control. She’s almost nine.

She wants to read a book. A great book. A hard subject book. Number the Stars. It’s about the Holocaust. She wants to read it, because it’s on a list. A list of great books that everyone should read. She’s in an accelerated reading program and they hand out these lists. But she’s eight.

The Holocaust. How do I explain the Holocaust to an almost nine year old? She still sleeps with a blankie. She has an arm full of Silly Bandz on at all times. She drinks out of crazy straws as much as humanly possible. She’s still so innocent. How do I explain this topic and not take away her innocence?

It’s not as simple as a novel. For our family, it’s real. How do I explain that for our family, or at least my dad’s side, it’s not just a story of once upon a time? That there is a reason there is no family on that side. How do I explain that my great grandma, great-great grandpa and two tiny little boys (one of whom was my grandpa. he was only 5 at the time) escaped with their lives, never to see another family member again?  That our name was changed and our religion discarded, as a way to protect what little they had left? How do I explain how entire countries let Hitler kill 6 million Jews? That no one stopped him. I remember the exact day this was explained too me. I do feel like I lost something that day. How can I do that to her? I know I can’t protect her forever, but eight seems too young.

This is the same kid who cries if a dog or cat gets injured in a movie. How do I explain dead children? Dead families? People burned? Starved? I can’t hide it from her. It’s part of history. Part of our history. I’m just not sure I’m ready to explain.

This parenting gig is hard. It was much easier to worry about what I was possibly going to do with all those wee little socks.