Apologize

I pulled a Mommy last night. Lili was busy completing her bedtime routine, and somewhere between washing and drying hands and putting on fresh Hello Kitty panties, my base Mommy instincts, in all their neurotic glory, kicked in and I pushed. I rushed her. Unnecessarily. Needlessly. Because I push. I push myself. I push my partner. I push our daughter. I push and I push, and I continue to wait for the day when the technique that propels me is equally effective in our family negotiations, all the while knowing that such a time will never come. Equal parts grateful for and envious of their easy relationship with minutes, hours, days, the languid mornings spent coloring, page after page and making pancakes, batch after batch. This I know she gets from her Mama, and not her Mommy.

"Here, Lili, put these on."

"ONE. MOMENT. I'm drying my hands."

Which, of course, she was. I could very clearly, very plainly see that she was in the middle of drying her hands, her sweet naked shoulder blades evident from my perch on the edge of the bathtub. She then turned to stare at me, grey eyes silently pushing back. Waiting. Until...the unexpected.

"You're right, Lili. I'm sorry."

A blink.

A breathe. 

A tiny voice.

"Apologize. Apologize. I'm sorry I raised my voice, Mommy."

She tiptoed closer as I reached out to pull her in to my arms, and I whispered in to her ear, "Do you think we can forgive each other?"

"I do. Friends?"

"Friends."

Mama and I talk so much about respect. Respect each other. Respect the animals. Respect yourself. Since before Lili could talk, she's known this word. And though I preach respect, I (admittedly) don't always apply it to my relationship with my daughter. Because, after all, she's the child. I'm the parent.  How will she ever learn, ever succeed, without the meticulous guidance of her mommy? Expect she does. Every day, she succeeds. When I let myself pause, and watch, and respect, I see it. Boom. Right there. The daily, weekly, and yearly lessons we have tediously and thoughtfully instilled in our sweet wild child are reflected back tenfold. And when I find the strength--the willpower--to step aside and simply watch, she bursts forth with such grace, such goodness, that I am overwhelmed with pride.

And I know. She will do wonders.

Woodlake Nature Center. Summer 2012.