Deep in the trenches of new motherhood, up to my elbows in diapers, up to here with people telling me “this too shall pass,” and convinced I was a failure, I consoled myself by starting a list of what I’d done right, things I could be proud of as a mother. Mind you, up until recently I could count the items on one hand, with fingers to spare. As humans we are always comparing ourselves to one another, as mothers that only intensifies. It can feel downright cutthroat out there, starting long before the baby even makes its way into the world. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve chastised myself for living on canned tuna during my first pregnancy—all that mercury!! How could I?? When it came to the births, however, I get gold stars. Hell, I deserve a medal: two home births, no drugs. But there it is again. Ok, so I’m proud of how I did it, but holy moly that shouldn’t negate how anyone else does it! Bringing a baby into this world is a miracle, in-and-of-itself. Period. And that goes for the rest of motherhood. Raising kids is relentless, exhausting, thrilling, awe-inspiring, mind-boggling, you name it. Every mother gets a gold star just for making it through the day. Nevertheless, as I said, I needed something to cling to, a few triumphs to remember when the going inevitably got tough again. Without further adieu, here is The List:

  1. My kids don’t eat their boogers. Seriously. Do you know how many kids EAT THEIR BOOGERS?!? Gross. I’m proud to say neither child ever, EVER, put a booger in their mouth, their own, or GOD FORBID someone else’s. Sure they picked their noses, and well yeah, they wiped snot and whatnot all over the walls as well as the sliding door of my minivan, but not once did a booger get consumed. Yes, thank you, I’ll gladly take a gold medal for this achievement.
  2. My children willingly drink water. This may seem pretty basic, and nothing to crow about. But in a world of juice boxes, sodas, Red Bulls and Monster drinks, corn-syrup riddled junk-in-a-pouch—some of which apparently comes with MOLD, the fact that my kids choose water is something I regularly pat myself on the back about.
  3. I never gave in to the grocery store tantrum. You’ve seen it, and more than likely lived it. Who knows the reason, but there you are in the store, kid(s) in tow, desperately trying to get home with at least half of what is on your list, and BAM. One or more children are screaming blue bloody murder, possibly even lying on the floor flailing madly about. You can feel people staring, judging. Your blood pressure is spiking, and quite likely tears are pooling. Do you give in and let them have the (insert item of child’s desire)? Or do you grab the hysterical child(ren), leave the cart and all its contents, leave the store, and return home? I always left the cart. Mind you, there were plenty of times I was tempted to leave the child too, and God knows what we ate for dinner those nights, as the ingredients were rotting somewhere around aisle 11, but on this I stood firm.
  4. My teenagers eat salads! Yes, they are teenagers now, but even as toddlers I was amazed at their palate. Cherry tomatoes, beets, goat cheese, my oldest ate Gruyere cheese for God’s sake! I learned I could put damn near ANYTHING in a quiche, and as long as I called it “egg pie” they’d gobble it up. I followed in my mother’s footsteps and became Queen of the Casserole (minus the two sticks of butter, pound of cheese, and can of cream of mushroom soup). These “one dish wonders” are a mom’s best friend. You can sneak all sorts of veggies in there and serve the whole meal out of one single Pyrex pan. But salads? Even I’m still shocked by this one. Nonetheless the proof is in the pudding and last night I watched both boys eat an entire plate of mixed greens, shredded beets and carrots, feta cheese, spiced walnuts, and avocado. Without threats or bribes. Yay me!
  5. My boys have a firm, confident handshake. As bizarre as the handshake ritual is, it is without a doubt, one of our first impressions of a person. I pride myself on having a respectable handshake, along with good eye contact, and can still recall the numerous times something went wrong and my grasp was off and I ended up botching the whole thing. I’ve taught my boys the value of a firm, but not too firm grip, and the importance of eye contact. I’ve even gone so far as to make them do it over if I’m not pleased with their attempt. A good handshake may not get you the job, but a poor one can absolutely start you off on the wrong foot.

We all have moments we aren’t proud of, and memories we can berate ourselves about. But it is utterly critical to embrace the positive, no matter how insignificant it may seem. Sure, I could get down on myself because my boys, at ages 13 and 15, aren’t doing their laundry yet, can barely clean their rooms without ridiculous amounts of cajoling, spend way too much time on their electronic devices…need I go on? But I look at them, and I watch them interact with the world, and I see two young men that I am honored to have had the chance to raise.

All of us are muddling through motherhood the best we know how. Which is why as a mother, it became so easy to forgive my own mother for my sometimes less than stellar upbringing. She did the best she could. I am who I am now because of and in spite of it. Admittedly, there are days, and occasionally weeks, that I’d rather be in someone else’s shoes, but overall I’m at peace with where I’ve been, who I am now, and where I’m going. And dagnabbit, my boys eat beets not boogers!