I had to smile. My girl is an amazing big sister. She is exceedingly patient with the two year-old little brother in our house. But it is her heart--her generous, loving, kind and gracious heart--that always takes my breath away. And this is why I blog.
If you met me ten years ago, I might have introduced myself as a student, a writer, a learner, a social worker, a reader, a knitter, or a wife. My husband might have embarrassed me by sharing my uncanny knack for remembering complicated numbers. We could have talked for hours about food, social issues, or the difficulties of balancing work, school and home.
Today I introduce myself as Mama, but occasionally I'll throw in blogger, photographer of my children, reader, writer. I still struggle to find that balance. I still love to talk food, wine, politics and social issues.
Yet I have knitted only two baby blankets in five years. With two pregnancies my ability to remember complicated numbers (let alone what I did last night) has all but diminished. The biggest difference is that my life is no longer defined by what I do, but who I am. I am Maddie and Sam's Mama.
And this, dear readers, is why I blog. Because at any moment, each and every day, something extraordinary occurs and I don't want to forget it. My memory grows weaker with each passing day and yet my children continue to make magic out of blankets and pillows, construction paper and stickers.
Each blog post is a simple snapshot in time, an everyday normal occurrence or unique moment in which I think to myself, "I've got to write this down."
My posts are like motherhood merit badges that I wear proudly, earned through diligence and hard work.
My blog is a place to visit the babies my kids once were and to imagine the people they will one day be. It is for remembering, recording, and dreaming.
This Mothers Day will be no different than any in the past. My daughter will present me with a handmade macaroni necklace that I'll wear proudly to church and around town. My son will have no fewer than four diapers to lovingly change. There will be construction paper cards, glitter glue, and messes left from special treats made in the kitchen.
And tonight, after I've tucked the kids in bed and kissed them goodnight, I'll return to my computer. I'll recall the day's events and record them in a blog post. I don't want to forget the way Maddie smiled when I opened her card, or how Sam pooped under his sister's bed while we put on our Sunday best. I don't want to forget the way my sweet boy snuggled down under his covers in his new big boy bed, patting the mattress next to him, beckoning me to lay a minute more.
I have no other choice but to write, that I might remember these sweet, fleeting, everyday, unexpected joys.