Watching my children grow and thrive is one of my greatest joys. That said - growing up is a messy, lumpy business. Dimpled baby knees give way to long, coltish limbs complete with scabs and bruises. From the forehead rug burns of babies who scoot on their foreheads to the snaggly teeth of a seven-year-old, there is a ragged edge to growing up.

I had ideas about this whole "watching the kids grow" business. Oh yes. It would be one photogenic stage after another, with nary a stray hair. With the arrival of my first daughter, it took about, oh, two hours after arriving home from the hospital to realize that growing can be torturous...for everyone within a ten-mile radius.

This week, I've been musing on my own growth, which has been ungainly and adolescent-like. As we've moved through the years together, my personal growth has been simultaneously stunted and vigorous. Each new parenting stage requires a new set of skills. It isn't always easy or pretty to gain these skills, either. My daughter's palms are calloused from learning to swing on the monkey bars. I have a wrinkle on my forehead gained from constantly raising my eyebrows to deliver the "Excuuuuuse me?" look. Not pretty, but effective.

I don't know why I assumed I would automatically have limitless patience or a balanced approach to discipline. As a child, I was always flighty, and disorganized. As a young adult, my life was ruled by my whims. I lived in the moment, never planning beyond the next weekend. I believed that you could do things 'right.'

Then "me" was replaced by "we" as I became a wife and mother in rapid succession. I found myself caring for other human beings. Wait, that doesn't truly reflect the situation. I was responsible for keeping other humans not only alive, but in good spirits and well-balanced. Clearly, I was supposed to be all-seeing, and all-knowing, with a full arsenal of solutions.

What I had instead were my own selfish notions about how much sleep I was entitled to get, and a few funny facial expressions I could do on command. This was not a promising start. I lurched through my children's infant years, hoping that I was faking it well enough to keep everyone from revolting and demanding a new mommy. Actually, at the time, I thought I was doing a fantastic job. It is only with the benefit of hindsight that I cringe inwardly at my awkward progress.

We've moved in herky-jerky fashion through these last eight years. For every stage, we've rebelled and excelled and swung our arms and legs about until we finally made it to the next stage. I used to treat each milestone as a stand-alone accomplishment. But in parenting, like in life, there is no done. There is only more growth. More chances to learn. More reasons to laugh and cry.

There have been times when I've stared at my son's forehead, wondering why he can't stop bashing his head when he plays dinosaur. When I've caught my kid picking their nose, big as you please. When I've scheduled a portrait, only to have one kid with a black eye, one with a scaly patch on her nose and another who can't find shoes. It makes me shake my fist at the heavens, and wonder how to parent differently to make life run smoother.

Let's not forget the time (ahem, last night) that I forgot the tooth fairy was due to visit. For the second night in a row. My lack of organization haunts me on a daily basis. Luckily, I'm still in possession of some tall-tale-tellin' skills, and that busy, busy evening that the tooth fairy had was something else, but she'll surely come tonight.

All their faults. All my faults. All my husband's faults. And still, we love each other.

I still live in the now. I am still flighty and disorganized. I suspect there is a 'right' way to do things, but I just don't see how I'm ever going to find it, as busy as I am. Still, I'm not totally inept. I have learned to comfort with a touch, understand without words, and fail spectacularly on a daily basis. I see my own shortcomings in my children, and through them, I can see the beauty in imperfection. We are a family of flawed, yet wonderful beings. It isn't proper, I suppose. But I'm growing into it.