I got back late from work tonight. Every Tuesday night. Period.
Honestly, I don't like working past 6pm... but I do, twice a week, just to suit that handful of students who just can't make it on any other day or at any other time thanks to their ludicrously packed weekly schedules (I am thankful that they are good students though).
Anyway.
It was near my toddler's bedtime. She was getting all kiasu, bossy and cranky. We tried to read; she was angry when her dad read the words on the page before she could. And then, I had to brush her teeth. All hell broke loose. There was the sound of her cries, my exasperated "say AHHHHH"s or "say EEEEEEEE"s, more crying... and then her dad tried to be helpful but got in my way, resulting in my scolding voice rising above the din. Etcetera. There you go, very dramatic.
In the end, it was a very miserable (and tired) little girl who buried her face into my shoulder during bedtime prayer. The weight of remorse and guilt bore down on me much more than that of my daughter as I carried her, pacing the room.
I knew that I had to apologise somehow. And I did. I told her that I loved her.
"Will you please forgive mummy?"
She nodded.
No words can express how beautiful a child's forgiveness is. In it, there is no malice, no secret grudge, and no pretense.
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