Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Of Love and Trust


I made a reference earlier to the fact that our four girls were in a theater camp all last week.  It was an all day, every day thing and they thoroughly enjoyed themselves.  At the end of the week, the group put on a musical for the families.  The girls all had lines, songs and dances to memorize and three of them had a solo. It was so important, they had made pointed invitations to extended family--sometimes calling a few too many times than was socially acceptable, but who cares about those kinds of rules when you are 9?   After all, it promised to be an amazing production.

Parenthetically, Grandma, Aunt Mollie and two of the cousins were able to come.  As I sat in the lobby waiting to meet them, I thought, This is why we moved home.  The family never could have come to see this if they were a full day's drive away, but 30 minutes?  No big deal.  

My pictures turned out crappy because they performed in front of a large bank of windows.  The production was supposed to be in an outdoor amphitheater, but rain forced them inside.
They each did such a fantastic job and I could go on and on in my motherly way, but that is not the point of this post.  The point I want to make has more to do with mothers and daughters.

As each sweet girl took to the stage, they looked around at the whole audience--for a moment.  They looked at their grandmother, aunt and cousins briefly as well.  But, really, they only had eyes for their mama; for me.  Each was so proud of their remembered choreography, completed lines, perfectly-pitched song, they were checking to make sure I saw it, I heard it, and I noticed.  

There are so many times when I feel like a big fat failure of a mother, when I'm sure I've messed up and ruined my children.  I don't know if all mother's feel this way, but I pretty much constantly feel guilt of one degree or another; guilt that I haven't taught them to work, that they don't know their math facts, that I'm not giving enough attention to one or the other, that I'm giving too much attention to one or the other, that I yell once in a while, that I give in too easily, that my tactics are weak, that the shirt is stained or the pants are too short, and on and on and so forth and forever.

But that random Friday afternoon, in a cramped conference center, something clicked:  
I am NOT messing up oh so terribly.  
I need not feel guilt at all times and in all places.  
My children love me.  

This isn't to say I am doing it all right, but I am doing what's right.  Their little eyes and bright smiles were seeking approval from only one person in the audience: their mother's.  This doesn't make it any less important that the others were there.  In fact, it was vital that others were there because the girls needed me to see that the whole audience was clapping for them (or that they were brave enough to speak/sing/dance in front of that whole audience).
Mom, did you see who came to watch me in my play?
Mom, did you hear everyone clapping after my solo?
Mom, did you notice how loud they laughed at my joke?
Does that ever go away?  I don't think so.
I always want my parents to be proud of me in much the same way.


The second gentle reminder of the afternoon was that I have a great responsibility to these beautiful children to always be trustworthy.  At their ages, they will believe everything I tell them.  I must be careful to always tell the truth--the good truth and the hard truth.  

Oh, how I love them.  
My heart
is full
to bursting.

I was showing our house plans to a friend today.
He said, "In a few months, you'll be in your house and you'll be happy and fulfilled."
I kindly replied, "I am already happy and fulfilled.  I just need more bedrooms."

1 comment:

  1. I love this post! You have such wonderful insight and such a way with words!

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