My Most Precious

Each morning while I get my kids ready for school, I wish I could slip one more thing into their backpacks before we walk to their classrooms: a tiny superhero version of me. Bullies in the play yard? I will fly out and vanquish them! Misplaced papers? I will find them! My urge to protect them from any unfairness, frustration, or anxiety is as strong as my hope that they will rise to challenges themselves and thrive without me hovering over them like a speed-crazed umpire. As they walk ahead of me with their backpacks making them look like defenseless baby turtles, I say a prayer that their teachers will love them like I do, that their peers will accept them, and that their day will be safe, fun, and productive. My children have excellent teachers, they really do. And their neighborhood school is supportive, well-staffed, and family-oriented. But as I drop them off at their rooms, my steps falter a little. "Look," I want to say, "at what I am bringing you. My gift, my heart, my most precious..."