Imagine that you can remember the first moments after you were born, and describe them in present tense (“I feel,” “I see,” etc.)

What a day this has been! I’ve been squeezed and displaced and pushed out of my home. Now I’m cold! And something is hurting my eyes. It’s so bright here! I see so many faces, but they’re not the one. All of these hands are not the ones! What are they doing now? Don’t cut that! That’s my lifeline! Now where are you moving me to? What is this cold thing on my chest? I don’t know any of these voices. I just want to scream! Please put me back where I was! I was so warm and comfy there! I don’t feel comfy out here! What have they put on my head? What are they wrapping me up in? Here I go – into another set of hands, but wait! These arms are different. This smell is right! The face is blurry, but it seems like I know it. I feel warm here and I know that voice! This body feels familiar. This is it. I’m home!

Describe your memories of a piece of furniture from your childhood home.

I guess it would actually be two pieces of furniture since it was a couch and chair. They were a 70′s burnt orange with big print flowers on them. Made from some kind of crushed psuedo-velvet stuff. You could run your hand over the fabric the wrong way and it would get all bumpy. Then run your hand over it the right way and it was all soft and smooth. They were big, overstuffed pieces and they were so comfy. I spent a lot of time watching TV from them, reading on them, and playing with my Barbies on them. Also, when I was sick I would lie on that couch all afternoon and sleep off and on. My mom would close the matching orange drapes and the sun would filter in a light orange color. My mom would bring me warm jello to drink and I would hear the muffled sounds from outside of the kids walking past, heading home from school. Thinking of that couch and chair brings back such warm memories of feeling safe at home with my mom.

I often question my abilities as a mother. I wonder what power in the universe decided it would be fine to let me try to raise two children. I obsess over every time I have yelled at my daughter. I question every scenario in which I have been a little snippy or short with her. I wonder if I give her enough attention, if I am raising her to be a free-thinking individual. If by limiting her time on the computer I am raising a creative, imaginative person, or someone who is going to grow up and spend all their time on the computer because it was limited when she was a child. If I limit sweets will she grow up to be a sugar addict? The magazine articles caution about not doing too much of this, but not too little of that either. It seems any mistake either way as a parent will send my adult child to therapy for sure. When does my will as a parent infringe on her free will?

Now before you decide that I am one of those people who has decided not to discipline their child at all for fear of ruining their individuality that’s actually not where I have ended up in my thought process. Not that I haven’t had those thoughts. Up until now every moment that I have over-reacted or spoke harshly to my child has been re-played in my head over and over as I analyze it to decide if I was too hard on her. But, who is benefiting from this obsession? Not me, as I am obsessing which isn’t healthy. And I am learning it is under-mining my ability to be a effective parent. Is my daughter benefiting? Probably not. Although she may get away with more for awhile, she is not getting the benefit of consistent parenting.

I have over-reacted to my child’s misbehavior. After all, she is only five and still learning her way in the world. She is allowed mistakes, she is allowed defiance to a point, she is allowed to be herself in all of her imperfect, child-like glory. I probably don’t need to yell at her for not playing nicely at the park as the consequence of not having friends will teach her the benefit of it soon enough. I probably don’t need to yell at her for blowing bubbles in her milk as…well, who does it hurt? Is she going to be doing it at a dinner party when she’s thirty? Probably not. And if she is, it’s her own problem at that point. But, there are times I have over-reacted. There are times I have been an outright screaming lunatic over something she has done – usually when I feel embarrassed about her behavior in public. As if every one of her misbehaviors reflects in me as a parent.

But is she is allowed her mistakes and misbehaviors, then can’t I be allowed a few too? Without the worry that everything will scar her for life? It is my job as her parent to teach her the rules and acceptable behaviors in life. It is my job to keep her safe by telling her not to jump off the very top stair or by stopping her before she rushes out into the street. And I am allowed to sometimes scream like a lunatic. I am allowed a misstep on my parenting journey just as I allow her the missteps of childhood. She has never been a child before and I have never been a parent. I can hope my over-reactions will be less with my son, but he’s only seven months old and it is too soon to tell.

If I question every interaction I have with my children – to sanitize it so that no harm can come from it, make sure than no wrong words are spoken, no wrong tone is used, then I’m not having a real relationship with them. I’m not being myself. At the end of the day, I am a good mother who loves her children desperately. Who enjoys them immensely. Who messes up daily. But, I am being myself. Which is all I hope for my children to be able to do as well. I want to parent without worry. To be myself in all my glory. Even if I yell and carry on and mess up along the way. I want a real relationship with my children. Maybe by relaxing into my parenting role I won’t mess up so much – although the bubbles in the milk thing does still drive me crazy. But, maybe I can learn to let it go. Maybe.

While I learn to be a free-range parent, I can learn to raise free-range kids here.

I was trying to think of something that had a little something to to with me, but “fat chick” or “mama chick” or “short chick” were all just a little too common and a little too… well, something. I have lived in the Chicago suburbs most of my life, so I am pretty suburban. Although I detest malls and think that for the most part the ‘burbs offer nothing along the lines of culture or entertainment. The main activity for those that live in the ‘burbs is either shopping or eating. But, there is no getting around the fact that I am a “suburban chick.” I like going to the city occasionally, but it overwhelms me sometimes. I love the country, but the lack of jobs and opportunities makes it an undesirable place to live. So here I am, in the suburbs. Probably for life.

I was very surprised that “suburban chick” had never been thought of by anyone else, but it must not be a badge anyone would wear with pride. I have been able to use it at any web site I have ever wanted to sign up for. So, if you’re out there in cyber-land and run into a “suburban chick”, chances are it’s me.

Enough planning and plotting… off we go!