How I was born

Usually, I feel like I'm failing as a parent. I'm never as patient as I want to be. I'm talk before thinking too much. I don't listen enough. I never have enough time to spend quality time and drill times tables and play Barbies and teach how to tie shoes and cook with the kids and all that stuff.

Sometimes, though, I feel like maybe I'm doing something right. And when I stumble upon those moments, I try to savor them because I know another one won't pop up for a few more weeks.

Yesterday, Seconda was sitting at the kitchen counter eating a bowl os strawberries (check mark there for healthful snack) and watching My Little Pony on the iPad (X mark there for too much screen time). I was loading the dishwasher. The baby was sleeping and Primo was on a winter hike with his father.

"You get what you get and you don't get upset," Seconda said loudly. Emphatically. Then she looked up and asked me, "Do you want to know why i said that, Mommy?"

"Yes," I said. Usually she doesn't offer explanations and if I ask, she gets uber-annoyed.

"I said that because I really, really, really wish I had wings." She sighed, "But I know that this is the way God made me and the way you are born is how you stay. Until I go to heaven, and then, I will be a pegasus!"

I just stood there at the dishwasher, pretty much in awe of the child I'd created but can only take a tiny amount of credit for.

"That is a wonderful thing to tell yourself," I said, "And I think I'm going to tell myself the same thig the next time I feel disappointed or frustrated with the way I am or the way I look. Becaause I feel that way too, sometimes. Everyone does."

I was proud of her. And proud of myself, too, for doing at least something right the past six years.