Forgiveness

It has taken me 24 years, but I would like to go on public record with this statement.

Mum, I forgive you for the mud picture.

For those of you who are confused, I will explain.

Allow me to set the scene: A dirt/gravel soi (small road) in Northeast Thailand. Sweltering afternoon sun with a hint of the rainstorm soon to come, for it is the middle of monsoon season. A little, blond, farang (white) girl of 5 years rides her bike to the neighbors house--a trek she takes on a regular basis. All of the sudden she falls off said bike and lands face-first in a huge mud puddle (obligingly left there by one of the more recent storms). She gets up. Is covered from head to foot in mud. Shaken, crying, and a mess, she trudges back to her home, bawling, desperate for the help of her ever-loving mother.

And what does said mother do? She laughs and takes a picture before helping her pathetic 5 year, mud-coated daughter.

And said daughter holds this incident against her mother for the next 24 years. Very useful weapon in giving mum a hard time.

Sadly, upon entering parenthood, I find myself in a terrible dilemma. Either I must give up my diabolical, parenting ways or forgive my mother for laughing (ok, ok, I'll admit it was funny) at my tragedy.

What ways am I referring to? Well, in all honesty, I just have to laugh sometimes when my darling daughter is crying or otherwise frustrated with the world. Her facial expressions when she's pouting or frustrated can be hysterical. Am I a terrible parent for finding some of the funniest things about Blueberry to be when she is not happy? For example:

1. The pouty face she makes when she feels she's not having her needs met fast enough. Comes just prior to the all-out wail. The pathetic tremble of the turned, down lower-lip--priceless.

2. The way she beats on me when her food is not cooperating as she would like. I guess trying to beat me into submission?

3. When she smacks herself in the face while beating on me because she really hasn't quite made the connection that her hands belong to her and are completely in her control. And the look of surprise on her face that goes along with the sudden blow.

These and other such moments, all little things, yet rather funny in their own way. Is this some genetic problem that I've inherited from my otherwise wonderful mother or do all parents have this slightly evil side to them?

Either way, for the sake of not being hypocritical, I find myself in a place in which I have to confess forgiveness for my mother. So here is my confession.