“Pretty is as pretty does.” What the hell is that supposed to mean to a ten-year-old?

“If you can’t say something nice, say nothing at all.” Oh, that one was productive.

“Men are like streetcars. When one leaves, another one comes along.” Well, kind of . . . sometimes.

“You have such a pretty face.” And the rest of me is for shit?

“Pull yourself up and be strong. You will get over this.” But . . . what if I’m not strong like you?

“Clean your plate.” But I’m full.

“Do you really need another helping?” But I’m still hungry.

“Never call a boy first. Let him call you.” Oh, and if he never does? What then?

“You know better than that.” Than what? I’m eight.

“Were you raised in a barn?” No, you raised me in our house.

“I swear, you’re going to walk down the aisle with your thumb in your mouth.” Well . . . that was helpful.

“I’ll give you something to cry about.” Trust me. I have enough to cry about right now. I don’t need something else.

“There are starving people in China.” And I can help them how? I’m five.

“If you know what’s good for you . . . ” Um, well, I don’t. If I did, I wouldn’t be doing this.

“Cigarettes will kill you.” And you didn’t stop because . . . ?

Mom: “Please talk to your children about telling me their church is the only true church.”

Me: “Please talk to your children about telling me I’m bad if I don’t go to church.”

Ad nauseam.

Wow. Sometimes we really do a great job of fucking up our kids! And other times?

“I love you forever, darling daughter.”

“I don’t like what you are doing, but I still love you.”

“How can I help you through this?”

“No one is perfect.”

“I’m here for you whenever you need me. Night or day.”

“I made mistakes when I was raising you.”

“I wish I had known then what I know now.”

“We all just want the best for each other, don’t we?”

From my mom in her last days: “Do you think I will go to heaven, even if I haven’t been to church in a long time?”

Me: “Yes, mom. You did the best you could with the information and knowledge you had.”

What’s my point? My point is exactly the last statement: “You did the best you could with the information and knowledge you had.” We all do that. Some of us seek out additional knowledge and information. Some of us don’t. Some of us flounder and wallow in our insecurities and ineptitude. Some of us just give up.

I guess I am somewhere in the middle. I refuse to accept the boatloads of guilt that could come into my life considering everything that has happened to me and to my children. I have done the best that I could with the information and knowledge I had at different points in my life.

And yes . . . how I wish I had known more when my children were little! Oh, I wish that above all. But we are what we are. We strive to grow and be better. We struggle. We fall down. And hopefully, we “pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and start all over again.”

I feel a song coming on . . . a very old song . . . pardon me while I go sing some karaoke.

Judy Ball is a wife, mom, stepmom, grandma, sister, friend, and working woman. She just tries to get it right most of the time, but knows she doesn’t get it right all of the time . . . and that’s okay.