As a mom, I spend a lot of time trying to preserve every memory of my children’s lives. I take a million pictures, write special moments in scrapbooks, save every piece of artwork and video tape everything from pre-school programs to knock knock jokes that no one but them understands.
But, on a day like today, when I feel at my wits end, I find myself hoping that my children will forget me.
I hope they forget the mom who yelled at them for having to tell them to put their shoes on seven times.
I hope they forget the mom who sat them in front of the t.v. for two hours because I couldn’t listen to them arguing anymore and I just needed some peace and quiet.
I hope they forget the mom who chose cleaning over playing barbies on the floor because I thought a clean house seemed more important at the time.
I hope they forget the mom who was so frustrated about being late again that I took it out on them.
I hope they forget the mom who was hiding in the bathroom crying because I felt like I just couldn’t do it anymore.
I hope they forget the mistakes I made that I never apologized for.
I hope they forget the mom who wasn’t good enough, and didn’t try enough and wasn’t worthy enough of the amazing little people they are.