My second child is an old soul, observant and wise. He is an artist and sees the world made up of shapes, colors, expression, and feelings rather than categories or labels. Long ago I learned to pause when he begins a series of questions to understand something and to listen when he explains how he sees things.

"Where do people keep racism?" he once asked and insisted that since we can feel racism when it happens and see the consequences of racism then we should actually find where people are keeping their racism so we can collect it. As if racism is kept in our back pockets or bedside table drawers and he might become the sandman each night collecting racism until the world was free of one of the isms.

One night he stared at the map of the world on our kitchen wall for a long time before excitedly calling everyone to join him, "If you just look at this map long enough you can see exactly how all the pieces use to fit together. I just can't wait to tell my teacher tomorrow that it finally makes sense!"

After listening to a story on the radio about a man who had repeated interactions with the police and court system, the report concluding with the man again in jail, my son quietly observed, "It does not sound like jail is a good answer for crime. It's sure not working for this guy." Observant, wise soul.

Recently, as I walked by him in the living room he says, "There is something I want to talk with you about. I don't want you to get offended but I think it's important for me to tell you the truth." I paused midstep and turned to him, quite curious. I immediately suspected fireworks were involved, but I was wrong.

"All these years we've been giving you cards that say 'Best Mom In The Whole World'. C'mon! How could you actually be the best mom in the whole world? That's a lot of moms! Even this city - look how many moms there are in just this city. You are probably not even the best mom in this city. I'm not saying you are a bad mom. You try hard. You do some creative things. We have a good life. But the best mom in the whole world? It's just not true."

Wow. This could be just the beginning. There are more than a few things to examine about my mothering and he is not afraid to talk about the hard stuff. I sat down across from my son, in part to be at his eye level, in part to feel grounded.

In a quick succession of emotions I went from defensive to attempting to rationalize my mediocre mom score to embrace his astute observation of the obvious. "I see what you are saying. Good point. And why should just one mom be the best in the whole world anyway?" I responded.

He continued, "I actually realized this awhile ago and first I felt bad knowing we had told you something that wasn't true. Then, I felt bad because I had liked feeling like I did have the best mom in the whole world and now I don't. I was trying to figure out how to tell you all these things. But, then something happened and I needed you. I remembered that I'm not an easy kid sometimes. After we worked on what happened I thought to myself, 'I don't know if another mom would have done all that for me.' That's when I knew you were the best mom for me. So, those cards I've been giving you should really say 'Best Mom In The Whole World For Me'." He took a deep breath and sat there, exhausted from truth telling and fearful he had crushed me with this admission.

My emotions still coming in waves I could count as they washed over me, I sat with the silence.

I know both from evidence and some kind of probability sampling issue, I am not the best mom in the world, or the universe, though there is a sign hanging over my desk that says so.

We spend a lot of time searching for "the best". Trying to acquire it, to own it, to be it, to have our very own piece of "the best" in some form for show and tell. Having "the best" or being "the best" of something can increase our perceived value or status.

This conversation with my son teaches me, the value added is in being who we really are - showing up at any given time or place with our unique offering.

The sign stays over my desk for now, a gentle reminder from the parenting-is-not-for-the-faint-of-heart-files, where life lessons are taught in passing, to just be me.

The best mother in the universe. Or not.