Most moms I know struggle with guilt. When we’re working, we feel guilty that we’re not playing with our kids. When we’re playing with our kids, we feel guilty that we’re not working.

Those of us who are arts-and-crafty blame ourselves for not spending more time hiking and biking with our children, while we outdoorsy-types feel guilty that we don’t expose our wee-ones to more arts-and-crafts projects.

It’s a lose-lose situation – and really kind of funny, if you think about it. What’s interesting is that “guilt” seems to be epidemic with our generation of mothers. But like so many aspects of 21st-century parenting, I don’t think that our foremothers could relate.

I’ve spent a lot of time with women whose days of child-rearing ended before the second World War began … and they just didn’t experience “guilt” as young mothers. Why is that? 

First of all, I think they were just too busy. Yes, we’re busy. But we’re busy in a totally different way.

While mommies of today run companies, drive carpools, and  dash around town picking up and dropping off this and that, the mothers of yesterday were starching and ironing sheets, canning vegetables, baking pies from scratch, sewing dresses, and folding diapers.

They were physically occupied every minute of every day. They didn’t have the luxury of time or the burden of modern psychology to fuel the fire of self-doubt and second-guessing.

I think that the expectations of parenting were different then, too. Children were not the center of the household. Their opinions, wants, and (sometimes) needs came second to those of the adults in the home. For better or for worse. 

A mother’s life was not about pacifying her children. It was about keeping them clothed, fed, and bathed.

Nowadays, we crave a relationship with our kids that is much more complicated. We talk a lot about quality time and connectedness. My grandmother looked at me cross-eyed when I once asked her if she ever played games with her five daughters.

I’m not sure how to keep us all free and clear of the mommy guilt-trap, but I do know that it’s all relative. At the end of the day, if we plan well and allocate our time wisely, we are gifted with more time with our kids than possibly any generation of mothers that has preceded us.

Instead of over-thinking it, we should embrace these precious moments for what they are, feel grateful that we aren’t darning socks, and then guiltlessly move on.

Lately, I’ve been feeling betwixt and between when it comes to my choices around work and family. Welcome to the party, right?

I think that most moms with school-age children struggle with the many hats they wear. Not just “doing” it all – but “being” it all.

There’s a part of me that is admittedly old-fashioned when it comes to my deep-rooted beliefs about marriage and motherhood.

I want to be home with my children baking apple pies and tending the backyard vegetable garden. 

But I also grew up watching T.V. shows like, Laverne & Shirley and Cagney & Lacey. All I need is a CB radio and a red sports car, and I’ll set the world on fire.

I can’t be the only one who carries around idealistic snapshots of myself – mental photos that don’t always jive with one another. 

I have a favorite one of me in the garden. My hair is pulled back in a twist, and I’m filling a bowl with snap-peas, while my children run circles around me in the yard.

Another image captures me busily typing away at my computer with a hot mug of coffee on my desk, while the phone rings steadily in the background – a long list of agents vying for my business.

The homemaker. The world-famous writer and business woman.

Ahhh .. to be both – and to be neither – at the same time. One day, perhaps it will all gel together.

But for now, I mix a little bit of “mommy” with a little bit of “professional” and call it a day.

Gracie has a brilliant memory. I have a feeling that it might be photographic. She says that she “sees” the scenes that she plays out for me blow-by-blow in the life-story interview that I’m doing for her. (I just launched a personal histories arm to my business – in large part due to my relationship with Gracie.)

Gracie can tell me what she was wearing, what the weather was like, and what she ate during certain seemingly insignificant events throughout her life …. beginning around age 3. I can barely remember what happened two days ago. And I’ve got 60 fewer years to keep up with!

Perhaps it’s just good genetics. Gracie’s mother lived into her mid-80s and sounds as if she was a rather sharp woman until the end. But I also have to wonder if her unusually acute memory is the result of more than just good genes. 

Gracie doesn’t waste her time dwelling in the past or fretting about the future. And even though you could argue, “well, what would you expect? She’s 96,” I think she’s always been someone who lives fully in the present. She celebrates every moment – often with a clap of her hands and a laugh. I don’t think that these are traits you pick up this late in life. I think she has always lived this way.

So why can she remember in minute detail the interior of the church where her son was married over 40 years ago, when I can’t even tell you what I had for breakfast yesterday? I think it’s because she drinks in her surroundings, doesn’t take one moment for granted, and says a silent “thank you” for every breath she takes.

The rest of us often are just plundering through life, doing a half-dozen things at any one moment – or at least thinking about them. Gracie lives a life of faith, trusting that God will see to all of those minute details that we run ourselves ragged trying to control. 

She just goes with it – and knows that it’s all going to work out just as it should. And so she’s free to notice the depictions on the stained-glass window, the words her husband says to her as they walk through the door of the church, and the color of the dress her son’s new mother-in-law wore that day. 

So I tend to think that Gracie’s memories are so vivid because she really lives each moment …. with all of her mind, body, and spirit. She never fails to “show up” in the here and now. And her unwavering faith gives her the ability to let go and to be fully present to the miraculous details of the world unfolding around her.

I guess the lesson learned here is that if I want a “memorable” past, I need to work a little harder at living in the present today.

In recent months, I’ve committed myself to cutting back on my coffee intake — with a limit of one cup of regular brew per day. In the past, I would make a pot of coffee in the morning and sip on it throughout the day. One cup at the break of dawn, one around mid-morning, and then a pick-me-up between 3 and 4 p.m.

Now that I’m enjoying only one mug of joe every 24 hours, I’ve noticed that I relish it like never before. I sit down, hold the cup snugly in my hands, breathe in its sweet aroma, and take my first sip. There’s no rushing around the house with a quick swig here and there. For me, that cup of coffee in the morning is to be savored … because it’s the only one I’ll get.

This morning, as I was tenderly cradling the mug in my hands, it occurred to me that all things seem to taste, look, and feel better when they’re in limited supply. 

The recession has forced many of us to cut back on our consumption of items we previously may have taken for granted, whether it be dinners out at a restaurant, new clothing purchases, or home renovations. But I think that there’s a case to be made that the special-occasion dinner out tastes a lot better when it happens once a season instead of once a week. 

In the end, we may discover that doing with less leaves us with a greater sense of appreciation for the luxuries we do have — when we have them.

I celebrated a birthday last week, and I’m sorry to say that I didn’t approach it with the best attitude. If the 35th anniversary of my birth had been a doorway, then I probably would have sidestepped through it, all the while looking longingly over my shoulder at the wonderful world I was leaving behind on the other side. 

But I came to my senses just in time — thanks to a few encounters in the days leading up to the big celebration. I learned that each birthday is like a park bench along the path of life, providing a nice quiet space to sit, gaze out upon our past, present, and imagined future, and soak in the beauty of those people and places that give meaning to our lives.

A friend of mine turned 96 years old just two days before my own birthday. Although I didn’t actually see Gracie on her big day, I have a feeling that she probably wore her favorite matching red beret and scarf. Gracie doesn’t sidestep through birthdays. She may do her fair share of reminiscing, but I don’t think that she ever wishes to be in any place or time other than where she is. Instead of trepidation, she approached her 96th birthday with a sense of gratitude and lightheartedness. 

The day before I blew out the candles, I conducted a life-story interview of a 75-year-old woman with four grown children and a number of grandchildren. When I asked her to recall the best day of her life so far, she took me back less than five years. She had led a rich, joy-filled life, but her best years are right now.

The morning of my birthday rolled around, and I was talking with my mother-in-law about a recent dinner party that she and my father-in-law had attended with some of their closest friends. Apparently, the dinner conversation digressed to roaring laughter about the number gravity was doing on their faces and bodies. They joked that within a few years, they’d have to rely on voice recognition to identify each other due to their drooping eyelids. But they all agreed that it was a really good thing that they were all going through the sometimes cruel process of aging — together.

That same night, I celebrated my birthday at an elegant restaurant in upstate New York with my husband of 11 years, my best friend of 15 years, and her husband, who feels more like a brother-in-law than anything else.

When we threw all caution to the wind and ordered two bottles of wine, I suddenly realized that we were not only celebrating my life — we were toasting our separate, yet shared journeys.  How could we possibly mourn the times left behind when we were traveling with such great company? 

My mom called as we were just finishing dinner. She greeted me with, “Parent Patrol. It’s 10 p.m. Do you know where your children are?” I did. Mine were safe at home in their warm beds, while my mom’s oldest daughter was sitting in a candlelit restaurant feeling the warmth of friendship and love embracing her. 

As my cell phone snapped closed, I was filled with a deep sense of gratitude for the people in my life. My friends. My family. And those who may just be passing through but leave golden nuggets of wisdom in their trail.

May we all learn to be a little less cynical when it comes to our birthdays — and a lot more joyful. There is much to celebrate.