… taking an extra-large “mother’s cut” of Easter candy before filling your baskets
… needing a “sweat rag” to hold while teaching you to drive
… making up excuses not to take you places because I didn’t feel like it
… making up excuses because I was afraid
… serving you fish sticks, French fries and corn… all in one meal
… serving you fish sticks
… being too involved when I shouldn’t / not involved enough when I should
… crying while you were trying to hold it together
… making you wear the red jeans
… killing every flowering plant you ever gave me
These things are true. But you, sons, already know. And graciously so.
I wish I’d been braver. More patient. Wiser.
I wish fear hadn’t been my default decider.
I wish I’d never cooked a fish stick.
And I wish I could do some things over.
But maybe that wouldn’t be good. Because things would change.
And you wouldn’t be the YOU you are.
And that would be a perfectly unacceptable imperfection.