Rising to the Occasion of Motherhood

God

I am the kind of mother who touches her children every night and prays to god in heaven to make them smarter, braver, stronger, and better than the way they were the day before.

I ask that they be kind and direct and courteous and love their parents.

I ask to make them better at what they love and put music in their hearts in the morning.

I pray to make me a better mother, but if only one prayer can be answered, I want god to care for them.

I am the kind of mother that weeps when they fail.

I shake when they are on stage and I gasp when the spaces of breath are too long.

I am the kind of mother who waits patiently for them to figure out the math.

I am the kind of mother who says wipe it up, I’ll make more.  It doesn’t matter.  Breathe.

I am the kind of mother who explains boys don’t get it as fast as girls and that the pamphlet forgot to say ask permission to touch any one under any circumstances.

I am the kind of mother who said you can save yourself for marriage.  It is always an option.

I am the kind of mother who says you will need your brother one day don’t talk to him like that.

I am the kind of mother who cries secretly, fearing their future and praying I did enough.

And ten years after writing these words, I am still praying.