Learning to apologize…

I have a little girl who is four years old and if I told you she was the thing that most anchored me to my life and passion, would you believe me? I’m so quick to dismiss her sometimes, when she jumps excitedly on one foot or waves her arm for me to see; sometimes I shoo her away to climb online and push myself to achieve more. In all reality, most of the online business happens when she is totally engrossed in a movie, or reading a book while her head is resting on my lap. We co-exist, her and I, and her presence makes me ache for more and more time.

I’m convinced that the little love letters I write her on here will never be able to truly convey the absolute joy she brings to my life.  Even when a frustrated mother is bellowing for the 15th time for her to get her shoes on to leave in the morning there’s a reminder that my day is complete because she is breathing the same air as I; each moment flows into the next because her giggles string together seconds in a precious, perfect, necklace of memories.

But you see, sometimes- I’m a maternal failure. Dinners consist of cereal far too often, and her pleas of having Princess Spagetti O’s often are heard 2 times a week or more over whatever dish I pull from the microwave oven. Tonight though, we had tacos and she smiled when I spooned in extra tomatoes and let her drink juice with dinner. Most of the time, she needs food immediately when we walk in the door. Since our butler, “Sir Non-existent,” seems to have the lifetime off, I’m often scrounging for dinner in 5 minutes or less. I assure you- it’s ridiculous how fast a mother can move when her preschooler is whimpering about starving. The Olympics have nothing on parenthood.

In every failure, or swift movement of my hand in plea to get something done: there is hope. I sat in the bathtub tonight reminiscing about the motherly guilt I was feeling about working near 80 hour weeks which I feel incredibly blessed to be a part of. (Truth.) I walked into her room and the idea of waking her up to read a story to her popped into my head. I wondered what kind of horrible parent would do such a thing, remembering that this horrible parent had talked her out of a bedtime story tonight because I needed to get a handle on about 200 emails. I watched her sleepy face twist and turn as I quietly whispered as her eyes slowly fluttered awake.

I started with an apology, something that needed to be said between a mother and a daughter how I would never regret if emails were not sent, but I would surely regret not spending more time with her. A pact was made and she smiled excitedly at the prospect of a 10pm story. We pinkyswore to My Little Ponies and her Giraffe that sometimes being a team meant we called each other out on reminders that Mommies always need to take extra time to put little girls to bed. Her understanding and willingness to accept my apologies is something I’ll never quite deserve, or understand. This child is surely more than human.

We read from the Princess Storybook that Uncle Joe gave her for Christmas. By the end of the story she was rubbing her eyes with a closed fist and telling me she loved me. I tucked her in and watched her slowly drift away while tiny snores escaped the lips on her pillow.

No matter the followers, the reach, the social media progress- the offers, the speaking, or the passion I hold for each of you: Those snores are what have me captured each and everyday. I love this little girl more than words can say.

Sweet Dreams, Ava.