She was a mother who wasn't sure of her skills. Sometimes the kids left for school without breakfast, she couldn't seem to get all her housework done, dinner was often a disaster, and the laundry was a huge pile. What's wrong with me? She would think. Other mothers seemed perfect. It couldn't be that hard, I know it isn't, she thought. But no matter how hard she tried, her work seemed insurmountable.

One day, the children has just come home from school, and she was looking at the papers they had brought. "Honey, this is a wonderful drawing you did. It's a horse, isn't it? And you made him purple, how lovely." "Yes, Mommy, " said the little girl proudly. "Purple is my favorite color." "I know, honey," said her mother. "You do such a good job coloring. And what did YOU do, sweetheart?" she turned to her son. "I did numbers, Mommy," he said, and held the paper up upside down. "I didn't do them right." "Oh, that's okay, homey," his mother said, "maybe we can work on it together. See," she said, turning the paper around, "you got two right. That's good! Wait till Daddy comes home and sees how well you two have done, he'll be so pleased"

She helped them off with their jackets and put them on a chair. "Now we're going to have Family Time tonight," she said. "What shall we plan for Daddy's big entertainment?" "I want to do the puppet show," the little girl jumped up and down. "No, no," said the boy, "I want to play Karades." "Charades," corrected his mother. "We'll have to vote before Daddy gets here. Let me put them both down on pieces of paper and hid them behind my back. It's your turn to choose," she said to the little girl. The girl chose charades and was vastly disappointed. Her mother comforted her, and got out an apple for each of them.

"You've done so well today at school. Did you learn any new words?" "I learned a big word, Mommy," the boy said. He was always looking for a new word to tell his mom about. "What was it?" she asked. "Prositoot," said the boy, expecting praise. He had carefully memorized the word to bring it home. "Prostitute?" said his mom. "Yeah," said the boy, Prositoot.' "Where did you hear that word, son?" his mother asked. "In the boy's bathroom." he said, with eyes sparkling. "They were talking about a girl. Are you a prositoot girl, Mommy?" Mother had to stop and think for a moment. "No, dear, that's a certain kind of grown-up girl. I'll tell you about it when you are a little older. Remember what Mom told you, some things have to wait till you are older." "Okay," said the boy placidly. He knew Mom would tell him someday and he was supposed to wait.

"I learned a word, too," said the girl. Her mother bent down to be closer to her. "What is it, honey?" "Lochomotive," she said. "It means choo-choo train." "Yes, dear, it does. And later on we'll sit down and learn to spell it." "Okay, Mom." The girl went running off to her messy room and got out all her dolls to play. The boy followed his mom around while she tried to cook dinner. This was the worst part of the day, she thought. Why can't I seem to get the meal right?

They heard Dad opening the front door. He had something behind his back. He came over and kissed his wife. "Oh honey," she said, "dinner's not done yet and I didn't have time to finish ironing your shirt for tomorrow." "That's okay." her husband said cheerfully. "I've got something for you," and he pulled out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. "Mother of the Year Award," he said. "for being the Best Mom I know." His wife burst into tears and fell into his arms.

End