The wisdom of youth.

Yesterday was Yom Kippur.

The Jewish holiday that represents our day of atonement. A day we ask for forgiveness from those we've hurt. Those who we wish we could be more, do more, give more and more and more.

Apologies.

Last night as I tucked my daughter into bed I explained a little bit more to her.

"You know how Mommy didn't eat today?" I asked. She smiled. (This was before taking off for school this morning and saying, 'How about you don't eat anything today, too, Mommy?' - say wha?)

"Another thing that Mommy did today was spend a lot of time thinking about people I love. People like you and Daddy." She nodded. Sleep drifting in and out of her eyes. "And thinking how if I ever made you sad, or yelled at you, or didn't listen to you - - how if I ever do any of those things I'm really sorry. I'm really sorry and I love you."

She reached over, took me in her arms and whispered, "I know, Mommy," ... and she did. She really did.

We held hands as she fell asleep. I knew it was close, so I lay there, still, quiet, holding onto her tiny hand. Clasped in mine as I watched her face. Listened to her breathe.

And then I looked up at the ceiling and cried.

Motherhood is rough, my friends. Nobody says it isn't, but sometimes we forget that it's okay that it is. And still, a reminder to ourselves that sometimes we yell when we don't mean to, we snap when we really shouldn't have, and we throw heavy sighs at our kids when all they're doing is being children ... is sometimes required. For me, yesterday was that reminder.

There are so many people I do love. So many people I could, should, would apologize to if I ever slighted them in any way, hurt them, neglected or ignored, embarrassed, the list of things could go on and on. And if any of you are among those people - take this as my understanding and apology, please. This is not who I am. That is never my intent. Even when hurt or intentionally crossed, I hold onto the pain and the anger but I often walk away instead of lashing out, it's not my style.

But among the many I may have impacted in such a way, there is no one more who deserves it less (no offense, my friends, but my words have truth and we all know it) than my daughter.

My daughter who I love with every inch of my heart, to the deepest parts of my soul and beyond.

My child who forgives me, her mother, for all my wrong-doings.

May we all begin the new year with many blessings, and I wish for each of us the understanding and knowledge of someone who loves us as unconditionally as a child loves her mother and a mother loves her child.

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