Worry

I am a worrier. I inherited this fantastic quality from my mom...and there seems no end in sight. My worst worries are for my children and I tend to err on the side of overprotectiveness. It has, more than once, caused my children to declare that I am "the worst mother in the whole world." I rarely let this bother me because I can become "the best mom in the entire universe" by allowing them to watch TV a mere ten minutes later. But there are times when I wish that I weren't so caught up in the "what if's" of childhood and just let them live life.

So, even though I didn't want to let Ellie play outside in the snow today I chose to ignore my instincts and give in to her emphatic pleading. And look at how much fun she was having:

Until:

The little devil on my shoulder was allowed several "I told you so's" as I watched Ellie run up the driveway with blood dripping down her chin, onto her coat, and pants, etc. She had somehow managed to scrape her chin, bite off a chunk of her lip, and jam her two top teeth loose. (We'll be making a phone call to the dentist tomorrow to see if I need to focus any additional worry on whether or not we'll have those Billy Bob teeth for real.)

So, at least for the rest of today: I'm a worrier and proud of it!