better than me

I've known for a long time now that I'm not well suited for this motherhood thing. A fat lot of good that does me - right? I'm a little deep into it now to contemplate whether I'm ready for it.

But sometimes I am envious of the mothers who are their children's greatest fans because I am my children's biggest critic. I tell myself its because I think I would rather they hear their weaknesses from me than from someone who doesn't love them. Other times, I realize its just because maybe I'm not a very nice person.

Case in point - thirteen year old.

First - she's thirteen. There is plenty of angst. She's had a fight with her three best friends and frankly, she has every right to be ticked - but I've been trying to teach her that the only thing she can change is how she feels about it, the only thing she can control is herself.

I've been feeling really badly for her - watching her cry and ask me 'why don't people like me? I'm just trying to fit in' and remembering all the while how that felt when it used to happen to me. She is beautiful and smart and lovely - but thirteen year olds don't always make the best decisions. I've been hugging her and telling her that there is nothing wrong with who she is and fake it til you make it and all the rest of that crap mothers say but really mean.

And then tonight...she shows me the dance she's planning on dancing for the variety show in two (2!) days. Or rather, the non-dance because there's very little of it actually choreographed.

My initial thought (and I bit my tongue) was to tell her: this is ludicrous! You can't do this in two days. You've done no work. You're going to embarass yourself. (and me - how small am I?) Its ugly; but its honest.

My next thought was: wow do I want you to succeed at this. I want you to do this and feel proud of yourself and for this to give you back some of the confidence that was eaten away this past weekend. I want you to feel like you can do anything you want. I want you to feel that luscious heady arrogance that youth provides.

So I swallowed my criticism and instead suggested that perhaps she could adapt her jazz dance from this year's dance school to the new song. Her mood brightened and she set about practicing.

Then she practiced her song that she's singing.

This parenting thing is hard...I've only got half a tongue left to begin with.

I love this girl. She is going to do something spectacular someday. It might be something spectacularly crazy - but it will be remembered. I wish I could wrap her up in bubble wrap until she's grown though.

All I can do is make home a safe place, make a mom a safe spot to fall. I can remember - vividly - days when it felt like the whole world was against me and I would ache for my mom. She was never overly affectionate but I always knew that if I came home, it would feel comfortable and safe and I knew she thought I was fabulous. I can remember that I would walk in the door and know that all the ugliness of the world couldn't get to me there. She is still the first person I call when my heart is hurting.

That's all I can hope for with my girl.