My kids don’t have a perfect mom.
They have me. Imperfect. But I try, boy, do I try.
Sometimes it feels too small, not enough, like I’m letting them down. Sometimes I have no clue what to do, but I will still show up, stand there, and cheer them on… Loudly.
Maybe I’m not perfect, maybe they don’t get everything, maybe life has good and bad days and whole bunch of normal. But that’s okay.
I taught them to be real. To show up. That it is good to proudly support those you love. That family is about being together.
And that the best gift of all is, in fact, love. Perfection is overrated.
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