And let me preface this post by saying

This is not about my mother.

I don’t mean to be critical but

That’s how the sentence always began

and I knew

I was about to hear my failure again

I put the dishes away wrong

My new haircut did nothing for my face

It wasn’t right to wear slacks to Mass

You were busy

but you still had more than enough time

to be perfect

My friends’ mothers wore polyester pants

with elastic waists

and sometimes forgot their lipstick

Once I left my shoes in the living room floor

I tried never to repeat that mistake

but even in my shoe rack they were scuffed

I told myself

my daughter would never hear me

catalog her shortcomings

I would praise her complexion 

Making a B in Algebra

would be cause for celebration

Maybe I tried my best

I certainly put enough thought 

into her Christmas presents

Now and then I stop

at her bedroom door

and listen to her laughing on the phone

I’ve raised a happy child

Pretty and popular

She knows what a gem she is

I look forward 

to Mother/Daughter Day every year

Want her to know how proud I am

I am standing at my mirror

making sure my make up is complete

when I hear those words again

Mom, I don’t mean to be critical but