Skip to main content


Tonight when I was taking my sad little pony tail out of my too-lazy-to-make-it-nice hair I noticed I had a little blue barrett with a cat playing a fiddle stuck in there.  Carly came by and put it in earlier today, while I was watching the Superbowl.  Super Bowl?  Meh.

It got me thinking about all the little things my kids do to show their love for me.  Things like:

Letting me hold their coats every time we go anywhere.

Similarly books.

And toys.

Sometimes shoes.

Occasionally Joshua will bring me a treat, with another hidden behind his back, and offer it so sweetly with a smile.  I have come to understand this means HE wants a treat and I usually say "You have it" after which he skips merrily on his way.  Sometimes I foil him and take the treat, which is why he has one hidden behind his back I think.

A few times a week Carly comes crashing into my room in the middle of the night.  Crying usually.  She tends to smack right into the door and then wiggle the handle, all while bemoaning the terrible-ness of life and nighttime and darkness.  Then she scrambles onto my bed, squeezing between Eric and I with maximum kicking, and continues to cry.  When I ask what is wrong, she cries louder and snuggles in closer and then falls asleep.  Ahh love.

Most days Joshua skims right past me when he gets home from school, scooting into his dad's office to present his report for the day.  "It was fine.  Can I watch TV?" to which Eric usually says yes because he is busy.  And then Josh comes frolicking out to tell me the day was fine and dad says he can watch TV.  Nothing shows affection like a pre-emptive usurp.

I've decided that the mumbling Josh does when he feels put-out is actually kind, loving words that he is too embarrassed to share.  The pouty face and wrinkled brow are just a feeble attempt to throw me off the trail.

And those times when Carly absolutely won't listen to a word I've said (like every moment of the day), that is just her way of saying "Mom, you've taught me so well I don't need instructions anymore."  Instead of getting mad, I'm just going to pat myself on the back and go on with my life.

In all honesty, my children are very sweet and cuddly.  They show me they love me in many ways, especially after I've taken them to McDonald's or let them have soda-pop with dinner.

Many have forgotten this truth, but you must not forget it. You remain responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.  -- Antoine De Saint-Exupery


Anonymous said…
Ahh, so that is how you tell the parent people you love them. No wonder way mom and dad never seemed to understand me, I was going about it all wrong :)
Marcia said…
I love this post, Sarah! SO true, so true... :)
Harmony said…
... reminds me I really should treasure every mement with Megan before she gets too big to give me grief!

Loved this post.

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Carly,

I assume that one day you will come to me wanting to know who you are, where you came from, where your other family is and why they gave you to us.  I offer you little bits of information already, but certainly not crumbs enough to satisfy the appetite.  Perhaps it won't matter to you.  I am assuming a lot, already, about how adoption will impact your life.

People often wonder why adoptive parents are hurt when their children seek out biological roots.  I have the answer, and it's very simple.  Adoption - at its core - makes us question the legality, authority, voracity, and validity of parenthood.  For most adoptive parents, first you must come to terms with an issue that strikes at the foundations of mortality: fertility.  From birth, most of us are driven to form families.  First we are nestlings, nurtured and weened and eventually taught to fly.  Then we are nest-builders, filling our lives with the stuff necessary to drive life forward.  Knowledge, safety, money, a sturdy …

On being away from home and turning sixteen: a letter to my son

Dear Josh,

I missed your sixteenth birthday.  I'm sure you recall - or maybe it wasn't so bad because you spent the whole day with your friend watching movies.  Godzilla and Guardians of the Galaxy, you've said.  It's no surprise to me that Godzilla was your favorite of the two.  That atomic green monster holds a special place in your heart.

It was very difficult for me to be away from you when you crossed this threshold in your life.  I remember turning sixteen, being sixteen, and wondering when I would feel like I was actually sixteen.  When I was sixteen, I went and found my first job, I started driving myself around, and I pretty much felt like I was in the wrong skin.  I'm only now, at 37, beginning to feel in the right skin.  Or at least comfortable with the skin I'm in.  But you - well, you don't seem to have a problem being you.  I can't explain how very happy that makes me feel, how very reassured.  Because it can be really hard not to like you…

Dear Carly (on your 9th birthday),

I can't remember what it is like to turn nine years old.  From watching you turn nine, it must have been difficult because it seems like everything is either really, really greator really, really bad.  Some days I think I might get whiplash from the mood swings (and you're not a teenager yet!).   But overall, I think nine must also be really wonderful.  You seem to be full of joy, even moments after being full of woe.  It's as if the joy just pushes the other stuff out.  It practically oozes from your pores.  More than that, on the days you choose to be happy, the whole world sings with you.  People are infected by it, drawn in to your sweet smile and shining eyes.  Attracted like bugs to a light.  You shine, dear little diva, so brightly sometimes it's blinding.

We just spent three weeks together in California, and I must have complained too much about your behavior because your dad believes we are oil and water right now.  I'd prefer to see us as oil and vinegar …