I'm a mom, not a miracle worker.

I can't snap my fingers and make my baby stop crying;

in the store,

at the restaurant

or on an airplane.

I can't wave a magic wand rid my child of their colic.

I can't bippity-boppity disappear my toddler's epic tantrum;

in the middle of the mall,

at your place of business,

the park,

preschool,

or even your house.

I don't keep handy a spoonful of sugar, and despite what Mary Poppins says, it doesn't help the medicine go down.

Medicine doesn't ever go down without a fight and lots of loud wailing.

Not ever.

I can't clap three times and motivate a school-aged child who isn't intrinsically, self-motivated.

I can't magic spell away any of my kids' eccentricities because you don't appreciate them or because they don't align with the norm.

I don't hold the power to change my child or to rush them through their less than pleasant stages/phases.

I can't speed-up the development of a brain that is developing just as God intended, on His timeline.

I can't stop a kid from acting like a kid.

But here's what I can do --

I can love.

I can listen.

I can give affection.

I can speak kindly.

I can compliment.

I can talk.

I can praise.

I can be present.

I can encourage.

I can teach.

I can help.

I can support.

I can model.

I can guide.

I can stay calm.

I can pray.

And I can hold the belief that I, as a mom, am capable of raising my little miracles into big people who will, one day, head out into this big, scary, sometimes cruel world, and be the good it needs.