Sometimes I wonder what my boys comprehend during a given day.
Do they see that I follow them through the house with a basket in hand, collecting their trail of toys? Do they care that I’ve planned a day of activities or that I will guard my tone of voice with a strategy that could outshine the armed forces? Does it matter that meals are prepared on time or that their clothes are always clean? (Well, at least they are clean for the first 10 minutes. After that it is truly out of my control.)
Most days it doesn’t concern me if they notice. Truly, the martyr complex doesn’t look good on most moms.
But I still wonder. What if I didn’t do those things? Would they care?
And then I receive a glimmer of insight–like the unexpected sliver of spring sunlight that warmed my living room rug this morning–it’s there and then it’s not.
My older son propped two of his toys next to each other and said, “Look, Mommy. They like reading time, too.”
Too? A little word that holds a lot of weight.
And in that moment I re-affirm that I am grateful for the opportunity to serve.