How Do You Like Them Apples?

The other day the big kids were downstairs playing quietly while I was feeding the baby upstairs in her room.  As H dozed off to sleep, I stared at her in the way that mamas do when they realize that time is flying by and their babies are growing faster than they would like.  I admired the shape of her little feet and rubbed my hand down her chunky little thigh.  I stroked her perfect little head and took a mental snapshot of how lovely she is and how grateful I am to have her.  That got me thinking about how grateful I am to have all three of them, all wonderful in their own way, and as soon as I got H down for her nap I went downstairs with the intention of telling Jax and Em how amazing they are, my heart overflowing with estrogen and sappiness.

I sat on the bottom step of our stairs and called Jax over, then hugged him tight and whispered how much I loved him in his ear.  I told him all the wonderful things that made him “you” and praised and told him how I proud I am of him.  He gave me one of his very rare shy, sweet smiles (not to be confused with his crazy, I-am-loving-life superhero smiles) and went back to his Playmobiles.  Then I called Em over and perched her on my lap.  I hugged her tight and told her I had a secret for her.

“What kind of secret, Mama?”

“The kind where I tell you all the wonderful things about you and why I love you so much.”  

Then I told her, too, why she is so amazing and all the special things that make her my girl.  I expected a hug and a maybe an I love you kiss, but instead she turned her head and burst into tears.

“What’s wrong?”  I asked, completely perplexed.  I thought I was being an awesome, extra-special, living-in-the-moment rockstar mom.  She took a deep breath, let out a wail and cried,


A toy you say, you ungrateful little demon?  I pour my heart out to you, attempt to build your self-esteem with accolades enumerating your many gifts and talents, not just how beautiful you are but why are you are so worthy of love, and you whine that you wanted a TOY?  Well, isn’t that a fine how-do-you-do, you commercialized little monster.

That’s my Em.  Always keeping me on my toes.

PicMonkey Collage

Next time I’ll just tell her she’s a nutjob.

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