Tuesday, August 17, 2010
vases by Jane Schouten
I was looking at my children and thinking how absolutely beautiful they are. I like to say that I can be objective because the Bird and the Little Mister don't have my genes, but really, I can't. It's all the same. Even if my children were, well, fairly homely, and let's just all admit right now that some children aren't gifted in the looks department, even if they were, I'd still think they are the cutest kids I know.
It just works like that. It's God's way of insuring that the human species don't kill their young like other animals sometimes do.
I'm not too proud to say that mothering three little kids is incredibly hard. I really believe it is on the edge of my personal capabilities. It amazes me how these little people can reduce me to a crazed lunatic by just being kids. But just before I turn to run screaming from the house, the Bird flashes me her baby blues or I happen to glance at the Boy's freckled nose. It tell ya, it's something that small that instantly makes me want to claim them as my own once more.
I heard Roseanne Cash being interviewed on NPR. She was talking about an intense experience she had that was more than she could handle. She said that in that moment, she borrowed from her future. She knew she would someday be older and wiser, more capable. She borrowed from that woman she would someday become to get through.
I love that idea. I know that someday I will have perspective about raising my babies. I will wish that I had enjoyed it more. I will long to kiss squishy cheeks and breath deep their baby smell. So these past few days I've been channeling the older April (not only is she wiser, she's skinner too because she has time to exercise). I've been trying harder to take it all in.
Blow by blow out.