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Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Reflections...

Reflections are a funny thing.

They are often times distorted, blurry, out of focus. When I look in the mirror sometimes I feel that way. My insides and outsides don't match.

Sometimes I see the "plump girl" that I was at various stages of my life. My eyes drift to the wrinkles around my eyes that previously weren't there. I see strands of gray, imperfections, an uneven tooth.

Lately I've been wondering what my children see when they look at me.

Do they see those same imperfections? Are they too young to notice? They won't always be.

Do they see the shy, awkward girl I once was and sometimes still am on the inside? Or do they see the confident, strong, proud mama I project on the outside? Soon they will be able to know the difference.

Do they see a reflection of themselves in the eyes we all share?  Do they see the love for them reflected in those same eyes? I hope they can feel it.

Do they see the mom that wants to have a clean house AND free time to play and giggle and read and Go Fish with them? Do they see me struggle with the guilt of not being able to have both? Sooner rather than later they will realize it.  

When they smile, do I always remember to smile back? Or do they think I'm too busy to just stop for a moment and truly match their grin? I can do better at this so they remember their mom with a smile on her face rather than a crease in her brow.

When they do something well do they see how proud I am? Or do they remember what they felt like when they spilled the milk for the third time that day and I raised my voice because I was frustrated?  It's only spilled milk, after all. I remember how I felt when I spilled the milk as a child; I vowed never to make the same mistake with my own children.

My reflections of their childhoods will most likely differ from their own reflections. I hope they will look back and know how they were loved; wanted; the genuine happiness they have given to me.

When they look back and reflect, I hope they don't remember all the times they asked me to play and I said, "Not until I finish the dishes, sweep the floor, fold the clothes."...

My list is endless, but their childhood isn't.



This is one of my favorite posts I've ever written. Mainly because I feel like this every day, and every day I try to do better, be better; more patient, more kind. I'm a work in progress.

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