I am not perfect. I make mistakes and am flawed, just like everyone (I assume). At times, my patience wears thin and I raise my voice out of frustration in hopes that I’ll be heard and understood. I’ll tune in and out of conversations—preoccupied by my own, reoccurring thoughts—and nod to feign attention. I forget things, important things, not so important things: people’s names, past conversations, even current conversations. I don’t eat breakfast all of the time, I drink coffee on any empty stomach, skip meals and eat ice-cream for dinner too. I procrastinate and wait until the very last minute to start an assignment, staying up until the sun peaks through the night sky. I pick my nose and try to flick the buggers away, wipe my hands on my jeans, and go on about my day. I’ll fall asleep after a night of drinking, with the taste of alcohol lingering in my mouth, face and hair so disheveled I am unrecognizable to myself in the morning.

I don’t always have the answers, nor do I always care about knowing “the answer.” I sit just as perplexed as Peach with the workings of life, people, and just plain stuff.

Questions I frequently ask myself throughout any given day are: Why are they like that? How does that work? How does it do that? How do you know that?

There are times Peach asks me a question like: “Mom, why is concrete gray?” “Mom, why is it okay for organic food to be more expensive than non-organic food?” “Mom, but why is the Sun yellow?”

And the list goes on.

I don’t know how many times I’ve replied with, “Well, honey, I’m not really sure, let’s research this together.”

So, the fact of the matter is, despite reaching “adulthood,” and moving through my twenties, I could be more considerate, understanding, kind, responsible, patient, focused, disciplined, aware, conscientious, well-informed and such. I can grow just as much as Peach so I reject this attitude that “Mom always knows best” or “Mom is perfect;” I don’t want Peach to think I am perfect, because I am not. What kind example would I give to Peach? I suppose the same principle as “why I don’t call my daughter pretty” applies here.

Children create their identities of self and image based on those whom surround them the most in life; i.e. their parents. If I embrace my flaws and imperfections and am kind and loving to myself as I am, there is a great chance Peach will learn to do the same. I am teaching Peach to be kind to herself, to accept that there will always be ways to change and grow and to be open to possibility.

I reject notions of parental superiority and the figure of all encompassing wisdom. I want Peach to know I don’t know everything. I want Peach to know I am sorry when I make mistakes and err. I want Peach to know that she never has to feel inferior if she doesn’t know something or acted out.

Yeah, life and time has taught me many things, but by no means will I ever cease to be a student. And hopefully, Peach will learn to feel the same with whatever bumps and bruises life will bring her way.