Some day when my children are old enough to understand the logic that motivates a mother, I will tell them:
I loved you enough to ask about where you were going, with whom and what time you would get home.
I loved you enough to insist that you buy a bike, that we could afford to give you, with your own money.
I loved you enough to make you return a Milky-Way— with a bite out of it—to the drug store and to confess "I stole this."
I loved you enough to stand over you for two hours while you cleaned your room, a job that would have taken me 15 minutes.
I loved you enough to let you see anger, disappointment, disgust and tears in my eyes.
I loved you enough to admit I was wrong and ask for your forgiveness.
I loved you enough to let you stumble, fall and hurt.
But most of all, I loved you enough to say NO when you hated me for it. That was the hardest part of all.
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