I can look at my daughters running into my room in the middle of the night as an intrusion to my sleep, or as a cry for help, realizing that this is but a brief moment in her and my life when she will need to cuddle with me because of a “nightmirror”.
I can look at my daughters digging up the seeds we just planted as an act of malicious mischief, or as the act of a future Edison, trying to figure out what (or who) makes those seeds become plants.
I can look at my daughters refusal to wear a dress as an act of rebellion, or as an expression of just wanting to be Rory.
I can look at my daughter as being an incredible challenge or an incredible teacher.
I can look at the war cries of my children as a punishable offense, or the first stages of learning how to get along and negotiate with other people.
There are times when I feel tested as a Mother, but more than anything else, I feel blessed; rich beyond anything all the money in the world could buy and truly honored that this little angel chose me, at once, to be her student and teacher.
I can look at having a daughter as being a trial or as being a gift from God.
When I look at my children, I see God.
There are two sides to my coin, but anyway you flip it, I come up the winner.