… 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.