My son forgets.

He forgets that he’s sharing the bath soap with three other people, and it’s not okay to squirt water into an almost new bottle.

He forgets that one should not take a pair of scissors to a pair of uniform pants that costs almost thirty dollars, and snip it so that it can’t be repaired.

He forgets that I put a drink in his bed in the same place I’ve been putting it for the past several months, and wakes me up at night to ask me why I didn’t prepare a drink for him.

He forgets….

I forget that my son has ADHD and that his brain works differently than mine. I forget that his daily challenges are exhausting as he is expected to do so much by all the adults in his life.

I forget that he is still a child, still learning the rules of this world, still trying to make sense of a world in which both parents need to work to make ends meet and don’t always have time for him.

I forget what it’s like to go on a walk with my child and see a butterfly and marvel at its wings and bright colors.

I forget the moment my son was born; the magic of it, the wonder of the feeling of becoming a parent.

I forget what’s important and say that I have more important things to do, like cleaning the house, when my son asks me to read to him.

I forget that I was once a child too, and appreciated the praise my mother gave me when I did something that may not have been extraordinary.

I forget that the reason I work so hard is to be able to provide for my family because I love them, so why not live in the moment and love them now?

On this night before Yom Kippur, I want to remember. I want to remember the joy I feel as a wife and mother, the joy I feel when I wake up each morning and head out to teach my students, the joy I feel when I am expecting my husband home at night.

I want to remember to give hugs and kisses to my family without having a reason, and to forget all the small unimportant stuff.

I want to remember that we are all imperfect, and that it’s ok for me to forget about being perfect sometimes, and to forget about expecting those around me to be perfect. I want to remember that it’s possible to love others even when the house is a mess, I am tired, and supper is not ready yet. And yes, even when my son forgets. It’s always possible to love; the journey needs to start in one’s mind and end in one’s heart.

May this be the year of remembering what’s important and forgetting what’s not important. Except the chocolate. Amen.