One of my favorite children’s books is The Kissing Hand. It’s about a little raccoon that has to go to school, and he is upset because he will miss his mom. To make him feel less alone, the mother raccoon kisses his hand and then closes his fingers around it. She tells him that when he feels lonely, he can open up his kiss and feel her love.
Of course I practically dissolved when I read this. Magoo loved the idea, so in the mornings, she gives me her hand to kiss, and then she kisses mine. Sometimes it’s almost comical as she is trying to get out of the car with her coat and hat and bag, and she’ll practically slap me in the face on her way out.
It’s a cute tradition, but I never knew if it really meant anything to her.
And then we were talking the other morning. Her sisters and I had missed morning Mass for a few days in a row, and she was saying how she gets lonely when she doesn’t see us walking up to Communion as she sits with her class.
But then she went on. She told me that on those days, she takes her hand and puts it on her heart so that she can feel my kiss in her heart even when I’m not there.
I don’t remember what I said, but I think there was blubbering involved.
I love these little people with every ounce of my being. But sometimes when I see that love heading back to me, I get confused. I start to wonder how I possibly deserve it.
I lose my patience constantly. Sometimes I zone out with a book or with some knitting. Sometimes I get burned out. Sometimes I get cranky.
And yet through it all, they simply want me there.
Parenting is incredibly demanding, and to me, that’s part of what makes it so rewarding. It’s not a sprint. It’s not for the faint of heart. It’s not something you can give up on… ever.
It requires all of us every day year in and year out. For seven and a half years, Magoo has been with me. There has not been a single day in those 7.5 years when I have not seen her for at least a little bit. That’s a lot of me to have around.
And while I might fail frequently, I know I do some things right as well. And miraculously, it seems as if those things I do right mean a whole lot more to her than the things I do wrong.
To her and to her sisters, I represent security and constancy and comfort and love.
And really, is there any greater gift than being chosen to be that for another human being?
Motherhood teaches us the gift of sacrifice, but it also teaches that for every ounce we give away, we get a pound in return.