Peanut Butter Toast

I have a thousand things on my mommy list today. It is Monday and my house looks like it. Why am I the mom who fusses at everybody about not picking up their stuff but get no results whatsoever? Note to self, fussing doesn't work, find alternative methods of crowd control. Yesterday afternoon I clearly remember thinking, if I can just get them all out and back to school I can have this place whipped into shape in no time. Well, it sounded good but now I wish I had sent everyone up with a laundry basket full of their clothes and all their shoes. When you multiply those items by seven you have a truck load and now I have no help. I suppose I shouldn't say I don't have ANY help. I have the little one. She's four, she's adorable and impossible all at once. She came in the kitchen a few minutes ago and asked for some peanut butter toast. I was so impressed that she actually wanted to eat something remotely nutritious for breakfast I got right on it. Her normal breakfast consists of Fruit Loops, a cookie and a couple of pixie sticks, I jump at the mention of peanut butter. As I delivered the toast she smiled and told me I was the "bestest mommy ever". I responded to the little cherub with "Thank you Sweetie" and mumbled under my breath, "I hope you remember that when you're fourteen". I know better than to let that one go to my head. I am not the bestest...um, best mother anyone ever had. I am old and tired and lack the ability to focus on anything for more than a few minutes tops. I think what she was saying was more like this. You are adequate, you take care of me, I don't have to worry about bullies or being hungry or cold. You love me and that is enough. I love you for your effort. Break that down into four year old vocabulary and understanding and it comes out "Bestest Ever". If I do my job well, she'll grow up and want a family, she'll be the mommy spreading peanut butter on the toast. She won't remember always having clean clothes or a good night song, she won't remember getting to pick out snacks at the grocery store or rummaging through my purse for gum or being lifted up to reach the mail. I hope she remembers being told she's beautiful and that she can be a ballerina or a doctor, a scientist or a pastry chef. I hope she realizes someday that she had a really fun childhood and was cherished and for a moment in time was my entertainment, my encourager and my help. These days are racing by, in a minute she will be gone. So, as I get back to the mundane chores of Monday I pray for her and thank God for the little gift I get to hold for now.