Since my daughter has left the nest and seems to be taking wonderful care of herself with, of course, several attempts on my part to always remain important and necessary, I have noticed that I have become a bit motherly with my plants. I know exactly what it is like to be motherly because I have been in the parenting game for over 20 years.
I have to believe that in the years to come my babies won't remember the times I said "wait" nearly as clear as the times I said nothing and sat to be with them. I have to believe that as long as I am scraping out every last part of me that I have to give to these children, like scraping out the guts of a pumpkin, and even if after all of the scraping it still doesn't feel like enough, I have to believe that if I'm really trying then it is enough.
Let's face it, mainly I'm fighting the judgement I feel from others. The visceral reaction when my son says the word "gun" at a playground, the recoiling at aggressive play, the intense discomfort at young boys engaging in the play of good vs. bad. It is the hypersensitivity of today's world pitted against the nature of little boys.