Children are a blessing. A crazy, crazy blessing. Some days you can't hug them tight enough and at other times they are destined for a box on the curb labeled "Free to Good Home" or to a family of gypsies.
Being a stay-at-home mom may possibly be the hardest job on Earth. Don't laugh at me calling it a job. You get up at 6 am. You are a chef, maid, chauffer, teacher, aeronautical engineer (paper airplanes), hostage negotiator (stolen toys), and an event coordinator (playgroup anyone?).
If it's such difficult, thankless work, why do you do it? Because, in the midst of all the chaos, in the cyclone that hits your home everyday, there gleam tiny moments of sheer perfection.
Yesterday, my 15-month-old wobbled over to me, climbed up on my lap (they're always taking liberties with my lap), looked me in the eye, said "Mine!" and gave me a hug! How great is that? I've been claimed, which is good since my 3-year-old has informed me that "Mommy, sometimes I love you."
"Only sometimes?" I asked him.
"I love you sometimes," he told me again.
"I love you sometimes too," I agreed. Just wait until those gypsies get here.
I'm kinda confused. I love this but you may get a bunch of messages from me cause I'm not sure how it works
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