Saturday, June 4, 2011

My children

Do you ever just look at your kids and think WOW?  How did that come from ME?  What did I do to deserve them?  I'm sure my mother thinks the same things about me, but maybe not with the same intonation. I look at my kids sometimes, and the love nearly bursts from me.  And other times, well, let me be clear. I'm writing this blog just moments after begging my youngest two children to please be quiet and stop talking for just five minutes pretty pretty please.  My ears hurt and brain is so tired.

I'm not a nurturing my mother.  My darling daughter Scotlyn doesn't like to wear shoes.  Saves me a lot of money, so I don't mind.  But she comes in the house with a splinter in her foot, whining like a titty baby.  My response?  "Well, if you had the sense God gave a goose, you wouldn't be wandering around barefoot. Go get your own splinter out."  Once, I let my son Chad ride on the bumper of the van down the driveway. He fell off and broke his leg.  I didn't know it was broke and thought he was whining, so I told him to put it up for a "bit" while I took a nap (I worked nights at the time).  Six hours later, I took him to the ER. Yup, broke. I felt bad.

I'm not a patient mother.  I tell my kids to do something, but golly they better do it.  And they better not sass me, lest they want to wear their teeth around their neck.  I just don't like sassing. I even get on strangers' kids about sassing their mamas.  Where is respect these days?  If you don't respect your mama, who are you gonna respect? Well, anyone, what was I saying?  Patience?  I ain't got it.

I'm not a huggy, kissy, cookie baking mother.  I don't sew my kids matching clothes - although I went through that phase.  The girls had matching dresses...although come to think of it, there may have only been one girl at the time. And the boys had vests.  This memory came to mind because I recently saw the material used as curtains at Cafe' Bouche when I went to lunch with a friend. How I love yellow and blue together. Lovely combination, that. I don't bake bread from scratch, or garden (tried last year. The weeds did great!), or really anything at all worthwhile.  I hardly even do laundry. Or dishes.

Know what I do do?  (My kids think that's hysterical when I say that.  "You 'do do'?  Muuhahahahah!" They really need to get out more.)  I love my kids.  Love 'em with everything in me. I'm so proud of 'em I could bust. I look at them sometimes and tears fill my eyes with gratitude to God for how much he's blessed me with them.  My oldest two - growing up to be so kind and caring and giving.  They aren't selfish and "rebellious" teens.  They aren't perfect - how boring would that be?! - but they're REAL.  My younger two.  Silly. Growing up too fast. Changing every day. 

To time passing by:  Stop it already!  You're going by too fast!  I need my babies a while longer.  Pretty soon they'll be gone, and what will I be?  A crazy horse lady? Certainly not a crazy cat lady. I don't like 'em. 

To my babies:  Go on.  Keep growing up.  I'm enjoying every moment of watching it. 

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