I think one of the things I love the most about being a mommy is that I get to delay complete assimilation into ‘grownup’.
Every day, my kids remind me of things I had forgotten. Like the time Eldest froze in the middle of the kitchen, staring open-mouthed at the window. “Mommy,” she whispered. “There are baby fairies in our house!”
Now, a fully assimilated grownup would have told her like it was: They were dust motes, hanging in the sunlight streaming through the window. Something that would need cleaning later.
But look again! Crouch down on the floor and look up with her. They glittered, floated, danced.
In our house.
A kiss has magic curative powers. A cuddle can fix a broken heart. There is very little as important as getting just the right amount of glitter glue on a project. A small farm’s pumpkin patch is a magical fairytale land of enchantment.
Sometimes, I have to be all the way grownup. I’ve got to work, and pay bills, and clean stuff, and tell them ‘no’, and rein in their sugar consumption, and make them settle down right when they really want to go on a wild tear through the house.
But just when it’s looking bleak for me, just when I’m in true danger of being swallowed up in the important business of trying to decide which candidate I hate the least or drowning in interest rates, amortization charts, debt-to-income ratios and mission statements that make no sense, one of them will rush up and inform me that today, this very day!, we’re having a birthday party for Ms. Baby. We are going to wear our party dresses and we are going to have presents and cake and ice cream and coffee!
Growing up all the way, averted for yet another day.
The Queen is Dead. God Save the King!
1 week ago