My bright shining star

Sometimes I sneak into my kids’ room at night, holding the door handle and twisting it slowly so as not to cause a sound, then pushing gently the door, cringing as the hinge squeaks and dim light from my room edges into theirs. I creep but they are asleep… Albie sprawled sideways on his bottom bunk with a stash of lego under his doona, where his feet should be… Matilda, with her legs entwined impossibly around her doona, like a string bikini around a bedsheet in the wash.
I move over to their bunks and sit on a toy chest, lean over to Albie and kiss his sweet cheeks. “I love you my darling boy". I look to see if my words have registered. I can’t be sure but he seems comforted. I hold his little hand and say more… “Your Mummy loves you so much.” Then with small pauses for emphasis, “You. Are. So. Wonderful.” He dreams on, his little face smoodged into his pillow.
I climb the bunk ladder and crawl over to Matilda.
I brush her curls out of her eyes so I can adore her beloved face. She appears so small and vulnerable in this moment. During the day, her personality can overwhelm me. She fills the whole house with her presence and her voice is constantly heard… but now she’s just this little human, with such delicate skin. I kiss her gently. . “Goodnight my darling.” “Your Mummy loves you.” When she was tiny, I used to list every person that knew her and loved her in a sing song voice as I rocked her to sleep but now, I just pause and watch her some more.
I have a little bit of regret in my heart from some interactions during the day. Times when I was hard on her, or expressed myself in frustration. I almost want to apologise now, as I look at her in this moment and comprehend how small and impressionable she really is. I notice her bottom lip is protruding, a little sadness has troubled her in her sleep.
”Thank you for being my daughter. I’m so grateful for you. I see you and your loving heart. I see your kindness and how hard you try. Thank you for all the joy you bring. All the silliness and playfulness and delight. Thank you for being my bright, shining star. I love you Matilda.” Her face relaxes. I stroke it gently. “Nigh night my darling”.

Sometimes I say a hurtful thing...

Sometimes I say a hurtful thing.
I can be cruel.
And I feel grubby. And pained.
Why don't my favourite poets write about this?
Perhaps I am not their equal.
They talk of suffering and solace sometimes, and I feel kinship.
I am transported to stars and space and forests
I am reminded of the beauty and community in the whistle of a kettle
But what I would give to know that they too, sometimes say the wrong thing
Let the heat of jealousy or pang of invisibility or sting of regret force their words
What I would give to know that they too feel shame
And it doesn’t stop them from being graceful and worthy of love.
Can I be forgiven for my slip?
Can I forgive myself?

Then I find these words which hold an unbelievable amount of comfort from the wise teacher Pema Chodrön:

“In that painful moment when we don’t live up to our own standards, do we condemn ourselves or truly appreciate the paradox of being human? Can we forgive ourselves and stay in touch with our good and tender heart? When someone pushes our buttons, do we set out to make the person wrong? Or do we repress our reaction with “I’m supposed to be loving. How could I hold this negative thought?” Our practice is to stay with the uneasiness and not solidify into a view. We can meditate, do tonglen, or simply look at the open sky—anything that encourages us to stay on the brink and not solidify into a view.”

- Pema Chodron