No, I'm not perfect!

This might come as a shock to anyone who knows me personally, but I have to admit that I am far from perfect. And how do I know that? I heard it from my son. He tells me he loves me all day long and at night also while he talks in his sleep, but he also tells me when I make mistakes. In fact he tells me about my mistakes over and over again, it seems to never be over!

When he was not even two years old, I closed a door on his finger. Yes, of course, it was an accident! He was following me and I had not seen him, I closed the bedroom door behind me, and when it resisted, I closed it harder. This is when I heard the screams. I looked down, and there he was, looking at me with big crying eyes.

For the next four of five years, this incident came back to haunt my conversations with friends, teachers, employers. Whenever he had an opportunity, he managed to slip it in: "Yes, my Mum did that too, she pinched my finger in the door once..." Everyone's shaming eyes then stared in my direction, and me, smiling, red-faced, apologized yet again and explained in less dramatic words the very (very!) old-but-not-yet-forgotten incident. We have a whole collection of this type of mishaps that he brings up at will.

Since I lost my job, my son has been more than supportive. Through my spell of depression, he made me tea, took me out for walks, prepared baths for me, scrubbed my back, sang songs for me and went to the farm to buy milk in the early morning so I'd have what I needed for breakfast. He never once asked if I had done anything wrong at work that could justify my getting fired, which was a relief.

However, now that we are settled in our new life-style, where I stay at home, wonder about the future and life in general and he goes to school and tries to work as hard as possible to make me proud of his studies, there are times when I deserve his reprimands.

I often give in to frustration, above all now that money issues are really starting to kick in. I don't lose my temper and start to break stuff like some of the people I have lived with. This is far from my style, but I cry and I complain to myself, forgetting that he can hear me. Somehow, because the rest of the time, he is being so mature, I kind of expect him to understand this as is, listen quietly, and go about his business. But this is forgetting that even though he is a "little" man, he is still a male, who wants to help me and fix things for me, and convince me that crying won't help and I should pick myself up and fight the odds.

I know that! At times, I just can't and I need the down time. Tears are water, and water washes pain away. But for my little boy, water that comes out of Mommy's eyes is wet and cold, and he wants to close the tap. So he lectures me. He tells me all the things he would like me to do in order to feel better. He lets me know that he is disappointed when he sees that I give up.

Oh, man! Can't a single-unemployed-broke woman catch a break? Well, probably not. I have to admit that I always end up agreeing with him. It does not help to whine and cry. So, it might come as a shock to anyone who has known me for a while, but no, I am not perfect, but I try hard.