Hoping to be Worthy of the Call

Sometimes, after a tough day, I wonder why I ever thought that I could be a mother-...a good mother. I seek solace and a place to lick my wounds. Unsure if they are self-inflicted, I go over the battle scene in my mind. I do my best, I try to be consistent; encouraging; solid; tender; kind; empathetic. Occasionally, I am tired and hormonal. I pass out verbal warning cards that beg forgiveness in advance of the coming doom.

Then seek pardon again in the middle of offending. My greatest hope is that my daughters see me, Mother, not as unattainable for themselves. I want them to see a real woman who is doing her best to love, protect, and educate them but one who says sorry when she has been unbearable, over-reacting, sarcastic, and a general grouch. Sometimes I am plain wrong. I don't like it when I am. Desire of perfection has a good strong hold on my pride. Swallowing a rather large lump of it, I then also admit fault and seek forgiveness.

Upon returning home from my self-prescribed retail therapy this afternoon, I found this in my e-mail:

Dear Wonderful Mommy,
I love you.You are a wonderful mommy.
I couldn't ask for better.Even if I act hateful,it probably isn't your fault.When I am mean to someone,normally,I am angry about something else.If you feel like I am terrible sometimes,I always feel bad about what I did,right after I did it.I think I am just to prideful [wonder where she gets that?]to say sorry.
Then I feel even worse.I have fun with you so much when we are together.I really enjoy being with you.I think that if a person didn't like you,they would be totally NUTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
But we don't have to worry about that because everyone likes you.

Love,
A

This, then, is my treasure; my bountiful booty from the fight against self. I pray that I may keep it in a prominent place, because stuffing it into some old chest only helps it to be forgotten and dust laden. These are the days that count...