The Thing I Care About Most Is Something At Which I'll Probably Never Be More Than Mediocre

Mothering is the scariest thing I've ever done.  And I've done it every day for twelve years.  I would be willing to do everything else badly if it meant that I could do this one thing well.  Unfortunately, there are some things I can do well, but mothering is not one of them.  I'm tenacious.  I keep trying, but I know I'll get good at it just in time to drive them to college. 

Maybe you've had experiences like these.  I figured out that the magic potty training combination was a sticker and five green M&Ms just in time for him to decide that using the toilet is a good decision requiring no external motivation.  I became fully comfortable with publicly breastfeeding just in time for my youngest to self-wean.  I learned how to make happy faces on the pancakes just in time for my children to deem it kind of babyish (maybe Daniel and I still have a shot at these--at twenty months, he likes babyish).  I'm only just learning how to play.  Am I in time?

Yesterday actually went okay.  Children got up and dressed and ready for the day in time to sit down all together for a breakfast of hot cereal and blueberries.  We tidied before playing a math game and learning a round...in French.  We chatted and laughed.  I snuggled that Daniel-boy and played catch with Hannah in the kitchen and read Captain Underpants to Jonah and taught Beth how to use my drill and at dinner when Mary gave the baby a pepper-mill and he biffed it across a crowded restaurant, instead of exclaiming, "What were you thinking!  With that weapon he could have brained someone!"  I was soothing, "It's not your fault, Mary.  These things happen."  Is it possible I'm coming in six years ahead of schedule?