Sometimes I feel like my kids are salvage.
Like here was something that was originally wonderful and important and then there was this disaster and it's been my job to take that original work of art, or craft, and rebuild it and polish it up to its original shine.
Sometimes, when I see them being perfectly beautiful and generous and loving, I feel this righteous pride because I made that possible.
Not their original glory, they're responsible for that I'm sure, but this slightly dented but still quality future they glow with - I made that possible through my choices.
That's egocentric, I know, but it's part of why I feel so protective of them.
I had to scrape and claw and hold my own falling-apart pieces together to make it possible for them to be this great.
It's my achievement as much as theirs...and my failure, as much as theirs, when it falls apart.
No wonder I take it all a little bit too much to heart.
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