Rewards of motherhood

I love being a mom. Most of the time. Most of the time, the rewards outweigh the disadvantages. Who doesn't love stretch marks, minivans and mom jeans? Most of the time, I see my children and I marvel that my husband and I could have created such fabulously beautiful and intelligent children. Because, let's face it, we didn't have the strongest gene pool to work with... I don't mind getting up at the crack of dawn to supervise their attempts at making breakfast. After all, they are nine and ten, and I have set a good example through the years, teaching them how to pour the cereal into the bowl and not on the floor. I help them make their lunches, I nag them to put socks on and comb their hair and brush their teeth.

I smile when they roll their eyeballs at me, because it wasn't so long ago that I was doing the same to my mom. I have to walk to another room when I hear them talking about the boys and girls they like. I don't want to be caught sniggering at their romantic escapades. After all, there is nothing funny about a boy hiding a girl's mittens at recess.

I enjoy the creativity they exhibit in their pathological lying story telling. And the creativity they show when making up excuses to get out of chores, well, that just demonstrates their ability to think outside the box. Because, really, do the dishes need to be washed every day?

I don't mind spending hundreds of dollars on school fees, clothes, shoes and food. Not to mention all the gadgets and gizmos they need as they grow older. Play time was cheaper and easier when they banged on the pots and pans, but it is so much more rewarding, and fun to hear them try and learn to play the guitar or the saxophone. I do love music, after all.

Especially rewarding is the generosity these darling children exhibit when it comes to food. They are so thoughtful, leaving food out to attract rodents and ants. They go out of their way to stuff apples and rotten sandwiches into the darndest places, to ensure that all of God's creatures are as well fed as they are.

Really, could a mother be prouder?

In the end though, I get even with them. They don't know it, but I do. By the time they were three, I had both of them telling strangers that drugs and premarital sex were life's biggest dangers. You should have seen the looks. I treasure the memories. Then there was the time I kool-aided their hair. Fric was pink, Frac was green and Bug was purple. Good times. What's better than making your children a walking rainbow of creativity? I just wanted them to get used to people pointing and staring at them. After all, the world is a cold, cruel place. Why soften the blow, when you can toughen the hide?

And until very recently, they thought that bumping uglies meant smashing an ugly face into another ugly face. More than one bloody nose came from that phrase. And today, after a morning of listening to them argue over who was going to put the milk into the fridge, I told them that it was okay if they left it out on the counter. It wouldn't spoil. They could put it away when they get home, and it will be good to use tomorrow morning.

I'm looking forward to watching them eat breakfast tomorrow. I love being a mom.

I can't wait to tell them about yellow snow....