As a new mother, I didn’t fully understand how--from day one, upon learning about my first pregnancy--the opportunity to grow through experiential learning had arrived.

Regardless of fair or taxing times, what I take away from my learning experiences strengthens me for the next priceless chance to gather knowledge.  

And the learning isn’t always easy to accept.  Sometimes, mothering lessons prove painful.  I learned through experience that a healthy pregnancy and normal delivery doesn’t guarantee that the next pregnancy will produce the same healthy results.  I have realized that so many women, who try to conceive and carry a baby to full term, suffer through these experiences only to miscarry.  I have learned to be grateful.

Two little guys, my sons, have given me a chance to live life in countless new ways—few difficult and many joyful.  What may appear as a challenge, I welcome as a blessing.

And I feel blessed that my kids are curious.  Hoping that my curious little people will grow up to become inquisitive big people seems like a universal tendency.

As soon as my children were old enough to start speaking, the flood gates opened and their questions spilled my way.  In the familiar axiom, “be careful, you may get what you wish for,” my wish was granted.

I try to lean toward the honest camp when fielding their questions.  I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t admit that occasionally (I stopped counting a while back) I still dance around the absolute truth.  Depending on circumstances, full disclosure of some content can do more harm than good to impressionable young minds.  But through my transformation to motherhood, I’ve discovered there’s no better way to answer.

“How old are you Mommy?” my five-year-old asked me on my “29th” birthday.  “I’m the oldest in the family!” I answered.  

“You mean you’re older than Dad?  But he’s bigger.  “How come you’re the oldest?  Are you 100 years old?”  The conversation would not end.  I felt even worse.  I launched the curiosity fest and now I not only needed to spell out my date of birth, I needed to explain that moms and dads aren’t always the same age and were actually kids once, too.

So for my next birthday celebration, my sons recycled their own birthday candles found buried in one of our kitchen drawers.  They wedged giant numerical candles -- a four, a one and a two -- into the icing on my birthday cake.  The boys were shooting for 43 but had to settle for a little addition on the cake to arrive there.  It looked as if I was turning 412 years old.  I knew it would catch up with me, just not that quickly.

Mothering encourages the truth to catch up with us and being a mom has put it all in perspective for me.

My oldest son came home from school and reported that if I didn’t attend Back-to-School night, I would be in big trouble.  I wondered, but not for long, where he’d heard “big trouble” before.  Of course, I attended and when I mentioned this to Liam’s teacher, she naturally offered wise counsel.    

“If you believe only half of what he tells you,” she said, “I’ll believe only half of what he tells me.”  I could see she had done plenty of teaching—and parenting.  A clear stream of stories as told by a four-year-old at his Presbyterian preschool flashed through my mind.  I accepted right then that I had a few more lessons to learn.

But not to worry.  Further learning opportunities presented themselves.

On a Sunday morning as our family drove across New Hampshire on the way home from a road trip, I told our children, buckled up in the backseat, that it looked as if we would miss church that morning.  We were still about an hour outside of our destination.  The kids weren’t noticeably upset about missing church.  They responded in unison with “Whhhhoooooohooooo! I turned around and gave them the grumpy mama look.  They were giving me their honest reaction, I realized, but mama felt a little sting of disappointment.

“Do you know that Jesus can hear our thoughts and words?”  I asked.

Without hesitating, my six-year-old, Jonas, said, “I meant to say, ‘Oh, mayonnaise!’”

Who was kidding who here?

Mothering is still heightening my awareness in profound ways:  it’s not always easy to practice what I preach.  I’m not a big fan of tattling either and during dinner one evening, the boys told my husband that I used the “s” word in the car on the drive home from school.  “Stupid” is the “s” word in our family.  We have asked our elementary school, puddle-jumping, Lego-building, hockey-playing boys to avoid the word “stupid.”  So there I was.  Elementary summary judgment had been passed.  I was guilty of breaking my own rules.  Why deny the truth? I let it slip and I came clean around the dinner table.

When that driver pulled out in front of me, the action appeared to be a careless and dangerous traffic violation.  And I just couldn’t resist calling out “stupid driver.”  But I should have skipped the ranting, or at least kept my thoughts to myself.

Truth be told, while we’re learning, so are the kids.  Parents are a child’s first teachers.  Much of what they learn, they learn at home.  If I want my children to follow the rules, I must follow them, too.  My best helpers are my children, an inspiration to aim higher.  So when I’m tempted to shout out a rant, exceed the speed limit or pick up that ringing cell phone when I’m behind the wheel, I rethink those actions.  And I can thank my young ones for the privilege.   

Mothering comes with a certain set of innate skills, while others need to be learned and polished.    

So next time, when my children ask, “Mom, how old are you?”

I’ll give them an honest answer.

“I’m close to 40.  But I used to be closer.”

Mary Ann Ebner and her husband Greg are the proud parents of two sons, Liam (8) and Jonas (6).  While searching for the truth, Mary Ann writes about family, food, life, the arts and sports.  She and her family live in New York’s Hudson Valley.