I Hope My Kids Remember Me Like This

When my kids think of me when they are grown, I don’t want them to think of me as a perfect mom. I want them to have realized there is no such thing and that being a mom is a messy job.

Moms are forever growing, learning, changing, improving . . . and failing.

I want them to remember Mommy started each day with the best of intentions—and sometimes she failed miserably, but she never gave up.

Each day was a new beginning, another chance, so each and every day, Mommy tried.

I want them to remember the times Mommy cried. She was broken; motherhood broke her, and they broke her. There were days and moments when she struggled to make it through.

During those times, Mommy got up, wiped away the tears and tried again.

I want them to remember the times Mommy was mad. She lost her temper and her patience. She said things she shouldn’t have. She hurt their little hearts and her own. She made some mistakes.

During those times, Mommy was never too proud to admit she was wrong; she apologized, asked for forgiveness and tried again.

I want them to remember the times they comforted Mommy. The times they gave her a hug and asked her what was wrong. The times they colored her a picture and said they were worried about her, that she “works too hard”.

During those times, Mommy put down those never-ending tasks and tried again.

I want them to remember the times Mommy was stressed. She went around anxious, struggling to stay calm and to break her fears. She felt totally out of control. She couldn’t focus on what they needed, what they were asking, what they wanted.

During those times, she said a prayer, took a deep breath and tried again.

I want them to remember the times Mommy was scared. She kept thinking of everything that could go wrong. She had a hard time letting go, to give them the freedom they needed.

During those times, she grasped for some hope and had a little faith and tried again.

I want them to remember the times Mommy was annoyed. She couldn’t stand one more “Mom”, one more argument, one more question, one more tantrum, one more request. She didn’t respond in the way she should have.

During those times, she took another deep breath and tried again.

I want them to remember the times Mommy was tired. She didn’t have the energy, the constant demands and needs of her wore her down. All she wanted was a break, a time to check out. She was too exhausted to enjoy the little moments or to fully engage.

During those times, she took a minute to herself, a nap, did anything she could think of to keep her sanity and tried again.

I want them to remember the times Mommy prayed out loud. She just couldn’t make it through another minute without the Lord’s help. She needed Him right that minute to give her the grace, the patience, the words, the energy, the strength.

During those times, she looked back down from the sky, unfolded her hands and tried again.

I want them to remember the times Mommy did everything just right. She somehow figured it out. Knew just what was needed, just what to say. She showed her love perfectly, did all the right things.

During those times, she saw how happy, content, and loved they felt and tried to do it again.

I want them to remember that Every. Single. Day. Mommy tried.

I hope my kids think of me as the best perfectly imperfect mom that they could have ever had. I hope they see I had every desire, every hope to be greatest, and I never stopped trying to attain it for them. I hope they see I loved them more than anything else in the whole world, and they were my whole world.

I gave them every part of me that I could, and I tried. Again. And again. And again. Mommy tried.

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