There are 18 pairs of shoes on the shoe rack near my front door. There are three pairs of muddy boots and one pair of nearly destroyed muddy shoes by my back door. I have two pairs of gym shoes in my gym bag, plus flip flops. I have five pairs of heels stacked in my closet.

There are only five people in this house. Plus two snakes. But they don't have feet. So we have roughly six pairs of shoes per human being counted above. This number does not include the tote full of shoes in miscellaneous sizes that I have picked up at garage sales over the last few summers and stashed, waiting for the day when one of my three sons six feet fit into them. 

I have a lot of stuff.

Ironically, this stuff stresses me out. Rather than giving me a deep seated peace that our needs are met, I feel excessive. I know my tendancy is to hoard. To hang on to things I do not need with the thought that I JUST MIGHT NEED IT SOMEDAY. There are tiny tank tops tucked into my third dresser drawer that, even if I could fit into them again, would be completely innapropriate for the mother of three to wear. Yet I keep them, in case I get invited to a frat house foam party? Or some such thing. Completely ridiculous. Completely unnecessary. Completely true.

I'm trying to find the balance now, to cut back where we do not need and to be willing to splurge a bit on what we do. We're eating more organic foods, for instance. Our food budget is up. But we have a lot of clutter we do not need. And there are oh so many who do need.

It's time to spring clean. What are you doing today?

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Tonight, on my fourth pot of coffee, I am sitting on the hardwood floor of my living room and working on a design project. And Ben Folds is singing Still Fighting It. Now I am trying to gather my thoughts and type while tears are streaming down my face. I can't not cry when I hear this song. I can't not be hopeful for that day down the road where my sons and I can sit down and have a couple beers.

I'm re-reading Alfie Kohn's Unconditional Parenting. That book has formed and shaped me in ways I don't realize. And I have so much still to reconsider and learn. I've realized, as I've re-read, that I'm failing in many of the commitments I made to myself the first time I read the book. And I'm shocked at the ways I've allowed myself to fall into conditional parenting.

I don't want to raise boys who follow directions. I want to raise sons who make their own way.

The crux of the book is this: "Are my everyday practices likely to help my children grow into the kind of people I'd like them to be? Will the things I just said to my child at the supermarket contribute in some small way to her/him becoming happy and balanced and independent and fulfilled and so on - or is it possible (gulp) that the way I tend to handle such situations makes those outcomes less likely?"

My sons are so like me, I'm sorry. But they will make their own way. And they might do so wearing a mohawk or playing loud music. They might write poetry or collect tattoos. They might break hearts and they might have theirs broken. And then will be so like me in that they will do it all their own way. On their own.

Forgive me tonight for the times I have tried to box you in, small sons. Your independent hearts are my true loves. You are your daddy. You are me. You are so very much individually you. And I think you're just great how you are. And I think you're just great how you'll be.

I have every faith that down this long road, as I struggle to catch the moments and hold onto the memories, we will find a deep and sustainable friendship that will > than any struggle we've shared. I want to parent unconditionally, even when its inconvenient. Even when I don't know what the hell I'm doing. And always with the same great grace and love I have been shown. 

You're amazing. And I never want to fight that. 

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then share your thoughts.

Because I don't have my own organized right now, nor the words with which to put them.

>?

- Natalie

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