The Goodest Mom

I was feeling pretty low yesterday. With some impulsive words I’d volunteered my already-stretched husband for a project he had no time for and it strained the air between us.

Well, actually, we weren’t speaking to each other. Or looking at each other.

And it’s funny how one failure seems to lead to another. I used the wrong checking account to write a check for a new tire. I managed to forget something important. I didn’t make a phone call I should have made. I was on a roll.

By afternoon, I threw myself onto my bed and stared into space. Do I just give up now? How about I crawl under the covers and hope this day goes away?

For some reason, I started rummaging through the nightstand nearby and ran across an old diary. One entry caught my eye from when my son, Grayson, was three and a half.

August 19, 1997

Today as I pulled Gray in the wagon to meet Lauren after school, he said to me, “ya know, Mom, you’re the goodest mom I evah seen!”

I swallowed the little lump in my throat as I pictured that boy in his denim overalls, being pulled along in the red Radio Flyer. Blonde wispy hair, blue eyes, pudgy fingers.

I told Gray about the old diary entry when he got home from school. Now taller than me and twice as strong, I have to cock my head and bite my lip to remember how fast the time has gone.

He laughed and said, “Wow, I sure was cute!”

“Still are!” I teased.

And then, in a moment of rare teenage quiet, he added, “and you’re still the goodest Mom.”

Now, it may be true that one failure can lead to another, but yesterday a kind word suddenly led to hope.

Being the goodest Mom to a 14 year old boy makes you feel like maybe things aren’t so bad after all.