The ways we are perfect

Am I a proud mama?  You'd better believe it.

On Sunday, my oldest son graduated from Duke University.

In front of the majestic Duke Chapel

Will is an awesome guy.  He's smart.  He's hard-working.  He's fun.  He's funny.  He's good to his brothers.  He's loyal to his friends.   And now he's a graduate of one of the finest universities in the country.

My three sons

As I was thinking about my son's qualities and accomplishments this weekend, I realized something important.  He's perfect in exactly the same number of ways that I am perfect.

None.  Absolutely none.

He's not perfect at all, but he's wonderful.  He amazes me.  I think the world of him.  Of course,  I never expected him to be perfect.  I'd love him and be proud of him no matter what.  

But, oh, how I wanted to be the perfect mother.

Some days I was a good mother.  Some days I was a fair-to-middling mother.  To be honest, some days I was a pretty bad mother.  On no days was I ever a perfect mother.  I've beaten myself up about that.  I've cried and lamented and wished I could go back and change things.  Because, although I never expected my son to be a perfect child, I did expect myself to be a perfect mother--or darn close, anyway.  And, of course, I failed.

Yet this fine man is my son--the child I carried in my womb for nine months, the baby I birthed, the boy I nurtured.   He's not perfect, but he doesn't have to be perfect to be wonderful.

And if that goes for kids, maybe--just maybe--it goes for moms, too.

What do you think?