Jake and I had a great day yesterday. It was full of jokes and silliness, and it was one of those mothering days where you don't feel like gouging your eyes out with a Bic pen. Most of the time this is a thankless job, but on the days where you get some form of positive feedback, there's no other job I would have.
I sat down, dinner in the oven (his warmth toward me assisted by the fact it was enchiladas, his favorite), to fold some of Olivia's clothes. Jake had been playing a Flintstones game with an internet opponent on Postopia.com. He turned around to face me and said, "Mom, you never stop working. I mean really, you do so much." He was incredibly sincere, and as he didn't ask for Michael to come over or to go to the pool, I assume he was being merely observational.
A thousand miles away, at the same time, MBF Tracy gets the same words from her ten-year old daughter. Okay, is this something that's part of the curriculum right now? We both marveled at the genuine tone they had sported, that they didn't slyly request any gift after, and at the unbelievable coincidence of their both bestowing their yearly compliment on the same afternoon.
I pictured, briefly, the way he might speak about me after I am old, or no longer here, and I felt that it would be kind. I suddenly knew in my heart that there is a distinct possibility that the way he talks to me now has no bearing on how he will speak of me later. And all of the sudden, I felt like I had won the blue ribbon in the Mom's State Fair.