That you know how to use an ever-loving trash can, for crying out loud, for pete's sake, for the love of that same pete, for all that is holy, for the sake of my sanity, and so that you do not live your days in squalor.
[Related] That you understand in the very marrow of your bones that my car is not a trash can.
That you know how to pray.
That, when I completely lose my cool, you understand it as me offering you a cautionary tale and not as me being a massive hypocrite.
That you know how to cheer for the underdog.
That you kinda sorta get that clean is better than dirty, just because it is.
That you know how to lose graciously. Why yes, I did watch the NFC Championship this past Sunday, why do you ask?
That you remember to bring the garbage can in after pick up day without being reminded.
That you are grateful for what you have and what other people do for you.
That gaining back a person's trust after you have squandered it takes a long, long time. And not like a long time waiting for something to download, but an actual, real, long time.
That you know in the very marrow of your bones how much I love you, even while I am making you want to jump out of your own skin.
Between this post and the last one, I think I've effectively written a Parent Job Description. For which no one on earth is qualified. A mother's reach should exceed her grasp, or what's a heaven for, besides a good long, uninterrupted, quiet nap?
Come to think of it, that might be enough.
* * *
That you know how to lose graciously. Why yes, I did watch the NFC Championship this past Sunday, why do you ask?
That you remember to bring the garbage can in after pick up day without being reminded.
That you are grateful for what you have and what other people do for you.
That gaining back a person's trust after you have squandered it takes a long, long time. And not like a long time waiting for something to download, but an actual, real, long time.
That you know in the very marrow of your bones how much I love you, even while I am making you want to jump out of your own skin.
Between this post and the last one, I think I've effectively written a Parent Job Description. For which no one on earth is qualified. A mother's reach should exceed her grasp, or what's a heaven for, besides a good long, uninterrupted, quiet nap?
Come to think of it, that might be enough.
* * *
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