I may have just received the most excellent compliment of my entire life. My eldest, loveliest child said to me a little while ago: "Mama, I love hearing your voice. It makes me feel so safe."
This, after listening to me talk to her little sister about how it's OK if we diverge from a plan, take another way, make a different choice. That in doing so we don't get in trouble, we find ourselves.
The whole parenting thing really has its perks.
As I lie here in the dark with the littlest elf, Penelope by my side, the older, most delicious one is in the kitchen making Penelope's lunch for camp tomorrow and my dreamy, baby boy is asleep on his bedroom floor.
"Wanna get in the bed, baby?" I asked him after I had finished tonight's rendition of "Mother Says Goodnight To All Things".
"No."
"You sure?"
"Shhhhhh. Stop it."
So there he is. For now. I'll go in later and snuggle him into his pillow and watch him curl up like a potato bug when his body hits the coolness of his soft, soft sheets.
And here I am, blissed right the hell out to next week.
If I ever get a super power (like a for real, comic book, JJ Abrams blockbuster style one) I want it to be the ability for me to stop and soak in moments like this for long enough that I create change in my body on a cellular level. Long enough to form new synapses and pathways of self-respect and confidence. Long enough to love myself enough to make it real when I re-start time and wait, ever so patiently for the next magical moment with my crazy, wonderful children.
This, after listening to me talk to her little sister about how it's OK if we diverge from a plan, take another way, make a different choice. That in doing so we don't get in trouble, we find ourselves.
The whole parenting thing really has its perks.
As I lie here in the dark with the littlest elf, Penelope by my side, the older, most delicious one is in the kitchen making Penelope's lunch for camp tomorrow and my dreamy, baby boy is asleep on his bedroom floor.
"Wanna get in the bed, baby?" I asked him after I had finished tonight's rendition of "Mother Says Goodnight To All Things".
"No."
"You sure?"
"Shhhhhh. Stop it."
So there he is. For now. I'll go in later and snuggle him into his pillow and watch him curl up like a potato bug when his body hits the coolness of his soft, soft sheets.
And here I am, blissed right the hell out to next week.
If I ever get a super power (like a for real, comic book, JJ Abrams blockbuster style one) I want it to be the ability for me to stop and soak in moments like this for long enough that I create change in my body on a cellular level. Long enough to form new synapses and pathways of self-respect and confidence. Long enough to love myself enough to make it real when I re-start time and wait, ever so patiently for the next magical moment with my crazy, wonderful children.
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