From the moment they were born, my children have pursued the noble work of keeping me humble. From spitting up on my clothes to consistently beating me at My Little Pony Memory Match to gagging on meals that I prepare (which I find ironic since these are the same children who have eaten dirt, live snails, and boogers), they often leave me wondering why I ever bothered to earn a college degree (especially when I’m plunging the toilet for the 5th time in a month).
“I like that dress, Mommy. It makes you look like you’re going to have a baby.”
“Your legs feel all prickly like a porcupine.”
“I love to hug you, Mommy. You’re so soft and squishy!”
“Will I someday have armpit hair like you?”
“Mom, you’re funny when you run. Your knees make a cracking noise.”
“Whoa, Mom! That’s a LOT of gray hair!”
“The queen bee stays in the hive and lays eggs. That’s like you, Mommy – except you’re not a queen.”
In spite of the three-ring circus that is so often my life, my children are four of the greatest gifts God has given me. As hard as I try to assemble a put-together life, my children are faithful in reminding me that “put-together perfection” is an impossible goal. They also remind me that it’s okay not to be perfect – they love me even though my razor is covered in cobwebs and my belly is more “mom” than “abs.”
This Thanksgiving week, I am thanking God for my children. He gave me the life I never knew I wanted.