I love my kids bigger than anyone ever could (except maybe their daddy, of course).
But, no matter how big that love is, some days I feel like I'm doing a rotten job of being a mommy.
[I've long suspected that the bigger the love, the bigger prospect there is for the feeling of failure.]
Then sometimes I get something like this snuck onto my desk in front of me.
And everything's right with the world again.
And I know I'm not failing.
And I know I'm not failing.
And I know I might even be doing a couple things right.
