Sassafras

I feel like this post needs a soundtrack in the background. Here, click on this and then come back to continue reading.

K, got that going? Or, if you aren't in the mood for music, I'm okay with that too.

I have a wild one on my hands.

And yes, I know that compared to many children, she is an angel. (And no, I am not thinking of any children in particular.) But she seems to test the boundaries daily. And I find myself falling into the fifth child syndrome, where you just hand everything over to that last child to keep them from screaming. (Obviously I am not giving her everything, since I frequently consider telling her older sister to push her down, but I do find myself telling the kids to just give her the toy she wants so my ears can stop being accosted by that decibel delivering pterodactyl.)

Pearl is actually getting smarter by the day it seems. She knows the way things work around the house. She puts things away, gets our her diaper, finds her coat and shoes, and sits patiently in her crib in the morning calling out for assistance. She really is a good kid.

She also climbs up on Daisy's bed and throws everything off. (Except the fitted sheet which she doesn't understand yet.) She turns off the TV when Daisy is watching, and she slaps people in the face if they get too close. She still doesn't eat dinner and the minute she is finished with any meal, she starts hollering and squirming in her high chair as if she has been trapped in there for hours. (I keep telling her that she need only say, "I'm done Mom, could you come get me out now?" and that would get faster results than all the drama. She doesn't listen.) She has earned herself the nickname of Sassafras because she sure gets saucy.

But I really love her to pieces. She fits into the perfect Pearl shaped hole in our family. Every one of these kids are great. They are real. They have good days and bad days. They tell funny jokes and really bad ones. They fight and make up. They love me and hate me. (Mostly when I make them fold laundry.) They are my life.

I actually attended a Bridal Shower today of an amazing lady who is my age. Many of the women attending her shower were single. (Which makes me frown at all the stupid men who are passing up awesome girls, but that is another tangent.) I got talking to a group of them and they asked me what I do for work. I said, "I am a mom." (And I tried to say it with some pride as I should, according to Jane Clayson Johnson, but not to sound prideful because probably some of these women would love that job as well.) But I wondered if anyone can understand what it means to be a mom until they have experienced it. I know that I didn't have a clue until June threw us in the deep end to sink or swim. I do not feel better than these women without children, but I wonder if I could ever explain how being a mother has changed me; how my priorities were instantly rearranged. Being married gives you experience at sacrifice and unconditional love but it doesn't quite prepare you for the terrifying/exhilarating feeling of being responsible for another human being. And the love that comes with it knocks you over. For me it includes the need to discipline. If I really love these little beings, I need to teach them, and show them how things work. Granted my stupid emotions get in the way sometimes, and probably not all punishments have been dolled out in a loving spirit, but I try.

I love what I do. I love the good days more, but I accept the bad days will make the good days brighter. I'm not sure when this turned from being a post about Pearl, into being some sappy gushy tribute to motherhood, but I think I'll stop there.



Has the music ended? If not...you are welcome to stand up and boogie at your computer.