What I Want My Children To Think Of Me

Someday, my children will tell someone what they think of me. How they remember me. What kind of mom I was. What it was like being my child.

I’m not naïve: there’s plenty they could say in total truth that I wouldn’t want etched on my headstone. But I’m not done parenting them yet (I don’t think we ever are, actually), so I’m still writing those markings.

Here’s a list-in-progress of what I hope will make the cut.

That I sought God’s face and favor. 

That I cherished my children for who they were while encouraging them to become who they could be.

That I apologized genuinely and then acted differently afterwards.

That I listened.

That I wasn’t boring.

That I took an interest in them.

That I made them feel I was glad they were in my life.

That I loved with action.

That I prayed.

That I laughed.

That I loved their father well.

That I made a home and did not just keep a house.

That I let them go enough to leave when it was time but held on enough to bring them back from time to time.

That I chose my battles wisely.

That they knew they could come to me with anything.

That I was fun to spend time with.

That I let them feel what they felt and sat with them in those feelings rather than trying to rush them through those feelings.

That I gave them good memories.

That I pursued and prioritized relationship with them.

That I did not stay the same but that my love for them was, always, sure and certain.