I don’t know if it’s the terrible twos or girls being girls or if she has been possessed by Chucky, but my sweet little Mo has become Mo-zilla as of late. If she doesn’t get what she wants when she wants it, if we redirect her from one activity to another before she is ready, if her sister looks at her funny, she is screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs, kicking and flailing her arms and legs as though she’s being electrocuted, and generally making us want to jump in the car and leave no forwarding address.

I have thumbed through parenting books, asked other mothers whose opinions I respect and value for their advice, I’ve turned to my mother, in short done just about whatever I can to figure out how to weather this storm. I’ve on it so much, my prayer has become a simple, “God, you know. Just. . .please. . .”

In the midst of these Mo-zilla attacks, there have been some moments of bliss. Yesterday afternoon we found ourselves at my parents house and the dog needed to go out for a walk. Mo and I walked Sage down and around the cul-de-sac, let her do her thing and headed back to the house. Usually after her walk, Sage is taken off of her leash to run around the yard. Mo likes this part, chasing after the dog, the dog chasing after her and it’s funny to see them playing together. It was hotter than blue blazes yesterday and Sage wanted no parts of running around after her walk — she is 13 years old after all, but Mo was not to be deterred. Miraculously, an afternoon wind kicked up , so she and I ran around on the grass, blew bubbles and just enjoyed the latter part of the day.

We ran to the gate that belongs to the neighbors, ran back to the porch, then ran to the middle of the yard where I picked her up under her armpits, her little hands folded over mine. “Hang on! Hang on, Morgan,” I said as I swung her around and around, faster and faster. I set her on the ground and she tilted and whirled until she fell onto the ground laughing, laughing. She looked the smallest drunk you ever saw, swaying this way and that, laughing so hard she was snorting. This was our afternoon and it was wonderful.

I just want to hold onto that moment, all of great moments that make me relish being a mother to such an exceptionally beautiful child. I need to draw from them when I’m feeling like I’ll be one whose face you’ll see on a milk carton ’cause I’ve up and left from frustration. That afternoon, in the cool breeze and shade-dappled grass, we were a mother and daughter just playing. As I swung her around and around, again and again, I told her to “Hang on! Hang on!”, but now that I think about it, I was reminding myself to do the same.