One of the crappy things about my job is that I don’t always know when I am doing well, that is being a good mother.  In some situations good mothering feels like bad, for example, when you are required to peel off  a sobbing Kindergartner,  hand her to an aide and gently shut the classroom door on both of them.  Walking down the hall you might tell yourself that it’s Monday, the child is: tired, missing her dad and still processing yesterday’s frosting fest.  You may recall how you lovingly tucked her in the night before and then got her up and going, jollying her through all the morning preparations.  You might even remind yourself of how strong willed this child is and that she doesn’t need the message if she whines and cries loud enough and drags her feet long enough, she will get her way.  But none of this will keep you from bursting into tears when you get into your car to drive home.  Or at least it didn’t keep me.