Sorry

I hate it when we fight. I hate when I become so frustrated with your actions (or inaction) that I develop what is far beyond an acceptable level of "inside voice." I hate the way we both get red in the face when we are angry with each other. I hate that you were mad at me when I dropped you off at school, hate that you felt the need to brush aside my goodbye hug with a shrug and a frown, hate that I walked away from you knowing you were scowling at my retreating form. Hate that I didn't turn around once more to look at you before I left.

You can be so proud, so determined, so STUBBORN. You have always been that way. Even as a little tyke, when you'd get in trouble, you always got angry at me getting angry at you. It's so true that each child needs to be dealt with in different ways, depending on temperament. Your sister is one to get so very sad and remorseful when she's in trouble, but not you — you simmer with anger and injustice, letting it brew inside you like a pressure cooker, and the only way I know how to deal with that is to walk away, to let you come back down to earth on your own. Because you always do. Once the heat of the moment passes and you've been left on your own to think and contemplate and consider, you emerge, fresh-faced and placid and apologetic, willing to listen and talk and discuss.

You have no idea how fiercely I love you, how much I WANT for you, how strongly I would fight to protect you. The older you become, the greater my fears grow about all the things I can't shield you from, all those outside influences that will only grow in number and magnitude as the years go on, as you come under the influence of other kids, other sources. I can only hope and pray that I have taught you, when the time comes, to make good choices, to do what is right and true.

So I am sorry our morning got off to such a bad start. Mommys aren't perfect — I am far from it, I know. But I am doing the best that I can... and I will always strive to do better by you. I love you, sweet baby boy. I hope as I write this that the moment is already past for you, forgotten, that it hasn't ruined your day. And I hope when I see you later on that you'll give me one of those great hugs like only you give.