I’ve always loved little kids. Little everything: hands, feet, fingers, toes. They’re so cute you could just chomp off their little cheeks, am I right? Seriously.
And I’ve learned so much from them! I don’t think I realized how much they would teach me, but I think the thing MINE have taught ME most is PATIENCE. The whole “Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!” thing. The times when they’re SO EXCITED that they can do something on their own (yay for independence!), but it takes them a million and a half years to do (or say) it. And potty training – don’t even start.
My kids have also taught me not to fall in love with anything too much: Tangible things, plans, etc.
- Like when I can barely walk up the stairs or – OMIGOSH – fall asleep at night because my knees hurt so bad from bouncing them for as long as I can stand it. Bye, knees. (Is this the reason my knees have started to hurt, or is it age? I’m not sure I’ll ever know for sure.)
- Like when I’m not even 40 but my eyes make me look 80. Aside from very rare occasions such as my own wedding, I’ve NEVER done makeup, but recently I feel like I NEED to do at least a little here and there just to avoid having people ask my kids if they’re having fun with grandma.
About that ‘don’t fall too in love with anything’ bit – I learned that when we returned from our trip away from the kids this past weekend. The next morning, I found something truly terrifying. Behold:
See the dollhouse? I’ve had that thing for THIRTY FREAKING YEARS. 30. 3-0. It was built in Saudi Arabia and transported to (1) Utah, (2) New York, (3) at least four places in Northern California, (4) Hanford, (5) Tulare, and (6) Murphys. One time, when our power was out for more than a week, my parents proposed chopping it up to use as firewood (thanks for that memory, guys), but NO – nothing has EVER happened to my precious dollhouse that I saved for some future day when I maybe, possibly, might have a daughter. Well, now I have two, and they play with it all the time, and as my parents watched my precious babies, my precious dollhouse got colored. Is it crayon? Marker? It doesn’t matter; it’s not fixable, and I’ll be honest, I’m a little heartbroken, but when I saw it, you know what I did? NOTHING.
Because seriously, what am I gonna do? Because seriously. And once again, I’m reminded how much they’ve taught me. In the end, it’s JUST a dollhouse. It’s JUST my knees, or my youth, or my mental stability (wait, I never had that anyway). I’ll take them over any of those things anyway. Little stinkers though they are.