Last week I attended my 9-year-old son's last baseball game of the season.  Going to my son's baseball games requires supernatural amounts of patience and perseverance because I have two younger daughters, and with my husband as one of the coaches, I am on my own with childcare duties.  I don't relish the task, but I do enjoy watching my son play, and I know he appreciates my presence, so I make the labor of love every so often.
 
At this particular game, I arrived on time (miracle of miracles) and slid into the bleachers and took a spot about half-way up on the middle of the metal bench.  Shortly thereafter, another mother joined me on my bench.  I cast a glance her way and saw a woman about my age, pretty in a natural sort of way, dressed casually -- cute, but not trendy.  She looked over at me and said hi and then started polite small talk.
 
Throughout the game I noticed that her parenting style was very soft and sweet.  Every time she addressed a child, it was quietly and kindly.  She always spoke with a smile and warm eyes.  She seemed to have unending patience with her 2-year-old crawling all over her, and I hardly even noticed her 5-year-old.
 
Meanwhile, I heard myself barking at my kids when they spilled their drinks and stepped on my toes and asked for one too many snacks.  My sarcasm when I spoke to them sounded harsh to my own ears.
 
I looked over at the cute, smiling, soft-spoken woman next to me and wondered if she ever yells at her kids when they're at home.
 
When I mentioned that I don't come to a lot of the games, she agreed that she hadn't noticed me before, although our sons were on the same team.  I wondered if she thought I was a subpar mother for not coming to every one of my son's games.
 
During the week after the game, I've thought of this woman from time to time.  I've always aspired to be one of those moms who has it together, arrives to games on time looking casually cute, speaks to her children with love and kindness at all times, and knows how to initiate small talk with other moms.
 
But I'm not.  I'm perpetually late.  I'm often still in my pajamas at lunchtime.  I rant, I rave.  I lose my temper.  I tend to speak harshly and often have to retract my words and apologize for my tone.  Sarcasm is my love language.
 
I'm working on it.  I get it right sometimes, but more often than not I'm left wishing I could be a kinder, gentler mom.  And yet, my kids know they are loved.  I cuddle, I nuzzle, I tickle, I tell them I love them about 50 times a day.  Hopefully that's enough.