Tonight was the Spring Showcase at our children’s school.  Theodore, along with the rest of his grade, was performing.

When Theodore started at this school, we still didn’t know how he was going to turn out.  We still don’t, of course, but when he started kindergarten, he was still having massive tantrums and, frankly, we weren’t sure what was going to happen with him, because he had just started really communicating.

At the time, and still, now, I worry about being a good enough mother.  I worried, and worry, am I equipped to be his mom?  Could I be doing better?  Where in my damaged brain can I add the worry about our children, when it was already bursting at the seams with worry about everything else??

Part of why I worry about this are what I call the thieves of joy.  You know what I am talking about.  The things can follow you around like a black cloud, waiting patiently to rain on your head.  These can be daily headaches, nasty people, people who are determined to ruin you, the shit that seems permanently parked in the back of your brain.  But, they can also be deep-rooted rain clouds that take up precious space in your brain.  The damages that have been done by passing people in your life, sucking at your soul long after they are gone.

Thieves of joy are just that.  They steal your joy and keep you from living your life. My thieves of joy steal precious moments with our children, moments that I miss from not being in the moment, missing them because of simply, worry.

No more.  I was overwhelmed with emotion tonight watching this amazing, bright, tenderhearted, sweet boy that I have the privilege of raising, the one who I have spent so much time fretting over, and he was dancing and singing in pure joy.  What I had always wanted for him, I got to watch unfold tonight.  No one, and I do mean NO ONE gets to steal any more moments from him due to their thieving nature.  He deserves more and so do I.

So, tomorrow is Mother’s Day.  Let’s talk about that for a moment.

We all talk about what it means to be a ‘good mother’.  What does that mean, exactly?  I thought a lot this week about the generations of women before me, how my great-grandmother didn’t have the right to vote, but was a sassy redhead, like me.

But, my great-grandmother made a lot of mistakes.  A lot.  She was married eight times, that we know of.  She also left my grandmother in an orphanage every time she ran off with a new man.

My grandmother was married twice.  She never left her children in an orphanage.  But, home life was unstable, and she was married to an alcoholic.

My mother is still married to my father.  While my life was unstable, my parents and my brother were my rock.

The thing I remember most about these three women, is the love and joy I witnessed when watching them talk.  I always worried about becoming a mother, and whether that was genuinely something I wanted to do, because I was damaged, and damaged is bound to rub off on children, right?

But my grandmother did better than my great-grandmother, and my mother did better than my grandmother, I think I’m doing better than my mother, and I hope and pray our kids do better than me.

That was hard to type, because no one did a bad job, all three women did the best they knew how.  I am doing the best I know how.  This is evolution through motherhood.

I worry a lot about what our kids will remember.  Will they remember that I was a good mom?  Or the one that forgot something they felt was important?

This week, Theodore brought home this paper from school that he made at school for me.  Excuse me while I dry my eyes, but oh.my.God this is the sweetest thing.

I try to parent by example, mostly.  I volunteer way too many hours of my life because I want our community to be better, and I want the boys to grow up with that example.  I always wonder if they ‘get it’ yet.  You will notice at the bottom of the page, under ‘3 Facts About My Mom’, number 2, he says ‘helps kids & parents that are hurt’.

He gets it.

Hopefully, he will also help others when he grows up, too.

Then yesterday, Radcliffe had his Mother’s Day tea at school.  They had a video where they interviewed the children and asked, ‘what is something that your mother says?’

Most children said ‘I love you’, or ‘hurry up’ or ‘let’s go shopping’, but Radcliffe said, “My mom tells me I’m special.”  I looked over to him and he smiled at me and pointed to me.  My heart swelled because I know he feels loved.

He gets it.

There are a lot of you out there not feeling like you are measuring up as a mother.  You are tired, discouraged, and worrying, and I am also one of those.  I am here to tell you that you are a good mother, that you are doing the best you know how, and that is enough.

You are a good mother.

I am a good mother.