There are days when I feel that I am the enforcer, like I have to take on the role of the ‘bad guy’ in order to get my kids to behave like civilized human beings. (Are children civilized?) It’s a role that is daunting and brings no pleasure, for both them and me.
It’s good to know though that on my worst days, when I don’t even mildly resemble the image of a calm good mother, my children (usually) somehow still forgive me and love me, despite my cracking the whip in all directions with little patience.
My daughter summed up this sentiment in her own way not too long ago. Before dinner, we sometimes hold hands and express gratitude. My four-year-old usually monopolizes the blessing, listing everything that comes to mind, while my one-year-old mutters ‘tanks’ several times under her breath while her big sister is still talking. My four-year-old’s list ended once with the statement, “I’m thankful for my whole family…” Then she looked up and caught my eye and added, “Even YOU Mommy!”