I’ll let Blossom watch a movie. An hour and a half of peace.

Life hasn’t been peaceful lately. Learning to parent through the teen years, and tutoring my boys in challenging subjects like physics and pre-algebra is forcing me to new heights. Toss in visa runs every sixty days and instead of the smooth sailing I’d hoped for, I feel like I’ve been knocked over by a wave so strong I can’t find my way back up.

Tonight is different – Brian plans to take the boys out. I’ll finish a few things, then take some time to myself. This sounds wonderful. But dusting off my To Do list I discover it is longer than remembered. Meeting other demands, I pushed it aside and now I am behind on answering e-mails and sending documents. Rest, already beyond my grasp, slips farther away.

If I can get a few things done, I can relax, I think, but I have the anxious feeling that one job will pull me to another until the gift of a quiet evening is swallowed up. Still, as I shout “Good-bye,” to my boys, I tackle the first.

“Mom,” my daughter approaches. I’m about to tell her how busy I am, how important this work is, but I hear hope in that single word and the memory of her soft voice from the week before pierces my thoughts: “I haven’t been getting enough time with you.”

It’s true. I know it is. I’ve been spending more time with my boys, helping them navigate new challenges, and less with my young daughter. Even the boys’ demanding schedules pull them away from her.

Yet still, as she voices her desire to be together, a tug of war begins. On one end, my list of unfinished business taunts me. I’m pushing myself harder than ever, yet still I’m falling behind. I need to succeed. And I need to rest.

Blossom’s needs, just as real, pull on the other end.

I’ve accepted I can’t be the perfect mother I once dreamt I would be. I know that when my kids grow up they will look back and see my mistakes, like black strokes on a fresh canvas. But I don’t want one of those mistakes to be that I put my needs before their own.

Tonight, I determine, I will decorate the canvas of my daughter’s childhood with a splash of colour.

“Let’s make popcorn,” I say, closing my computer. Blossom runs to the kitchen.

“Can we make the healthy sauce?” I break the leaves off of oregano and thyme and fry them with olive oil. Blossom passes the salt and pepper and I turn the mill, crushing the seasoning and watching it spill in to add flavour.

Her grin is wide, her eyes aglow. I bask in her joy. I’ve missed it.

Since the boys are gone we choose a girly movie and, with popcorn on my lap, I wrap my arm around Blossom as she snuggles up. I look from my computer, where I would have sat working, striving, back to my daughter, and pull her just a little closer. This is right. My hula-hoop of a To Do list will still be there long after she is grown. And the rest I needed? I’ve found it.

My daughter smiles at me and I smile back.

I’m glad she won the tug of war.