Woes of Motherhood

"When I'm sixteen, I'm moving out!"

"I hope you find a really nice place then," I said, throwing my jacket over my arm as I scanned the stairs for my car keys. Bundled in her jacket, my daughter stood by the door, her face set in an angry pout while her boot clad feet scuffed back and forth on the carpet.

"I want to go now," she huffed.

"We'll leave when you apologize."

"Sorry," she snapped. "Now can we go?"

I held my breath and counted to ten. A slow count even though I was already running late for work.

"When you say sorry like that, it doesn't count. You have to mean it."

"Well I don't know why you have to ask me all those stupid questions anyway. I'm not a baby you know!"

"As shown by your current behavior?" I asked blandly, watching her hands reaching for the door. I leaned against it.

"Mom! I'm going to be late for school!"

"And I'm going to be late for work. But it seems we need to have a conversation." She attempted to speak. "Let me rephrase that. I'm going to talk, you're going to listen."

She clapped her hands over her ears.

"Well, that's going to make it difficult but not impossible," I said, "I've got all day you know. I don't have to go to work. I could call in and we could stand here all day until you decide you'd like to listen."

I could see the look of horror flash across her face. Stubborness recognizing stubborness. Two mules ramming their heads together could not have been a clearer picture of her and I.

"The reason Mommy asks you all those questions in the morning is because I want to make sure you have everything you need and you haven't forgotten anything. It's what Mom's do. Mom's ask questions to get answers. To make sure you've packed your sneakers in your bag, to make sure you've remembered to put your homework in the folder, to remind you to pack your lunch money. It's my job. It's what I live to do. It's my lifelong mission. It's my reason for breathing. It's ..."

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"How long are you going to be asking me this stuff?"

"As long as I'm your Mother ..."