I'll Never Stop Saying Sorry

School has barely been in session for more than a few weeks, and we've already been hit by sickness. My poor family can hardly take that harsh transition from carefree summer days back into the daily grind of the school schedule. So there we were—me, hacking and coughing with the last traces of a virus, and my second oldest son, sore throat and stuffy head, missing the first spelling test of fifth grade.

By afternoon time, I had finished whatever menial chores I felt I "had" to finish, and somehow the Sorry game was pulled off the top shelf in our closet. I think the daily quota of SpongeBob had been filled, and it was time for something that didn't involve electronics.

I'd forgotten how much I love playing Sorry. It's a game I remember well from my childhood. My family enjoyed some friendly competition, and we had no misgivings about smacking down our opponent if the chance presented itself. So I think my son was a little surprised when, early in the game, I pulled a "Sorry!" card and gleefully replaced his piece—forcefully—with mine.

"Awww, that's a shame," I said in a cold, sinister voice. He just stared at me in shock.

I'm usually a pretty nurturing mother. I try not to hover, but my kids are probably pretty sheltered from most things. I guess this was a side of me he hadn't seen before. On a normal day, I'm a lioness who protects her little cubs. But put me in front of a board game, and suddenly I'm willing to eat my own young.

I beat him at the first game. I thought maybe he would cry at the defeat. That's what my younger kids do. When something doesn't go their way, they cry. Their lower lips stick out to the next county.

Not this kid.

"Rematch," he said, grabbing the deck of cards to shuffle. "And this time, you're goin' down."

That's my boy.

Guilt is that ever-present ingredient in all interactions mothers have with their children. I was feeling guilty for "letting" my kid get sick in the first place. Was he washing his hands enough? Eating healthy food? I was guilty that he was already missing school and would face make-up homework over the weekend.

And when was the last time he and I sat down to play a board game together? It had been too long.

More guilt.

I'm trying to let go of the guilt. But who am I kidding? I can't really let go of it. Maybe I'll learn to give it a quick embrace, then gently push it away. I have to choose not to beat myself up about each little failure throughout the day—for me, there are a lot of them. The "I'm sorrys" come fast and furious for not being enough, for not doing enough. I'm sorry that I don't take enough time with each child, treating them like a herd and not singling each one out to spend time to celebrate each one's special qualities.

I'll be saying Sorry! the rest of my life, I have the feeling. I guess it's what parents do. But darn it, some of those so-called failures can really turn out to be something wonderful. Because as it turns out, playing board games on a sick day with one special kid really rocks my world.