Mommy's Playdough

The boys and I spent all morning together in the kitchen today. Some mornings, I wake up and want to run out the door to anywhere but home. I want to do my own thing. I don't want the responsibilities of caring for others. Period.

I have been a mother for almost seven years now, and I allow myself the grace to be honest about that.

Some mornings, I don't want this job.

I want my children. I want my husband and my house and the stuff that fills in the space between these walls, but I don't want the work and mess and messiness that comes along with being the mother.

Today, I woke up and wanted nothing more than to have them around me. To smell their stinky, sweaty heads and touch their pudgy little fingers.

So, I pulled out a faithful recipe for closeness and we baked a pie together. An apple crumb pie.

They helped me measure and pour and they always spill. Always. While I was rolling out the crust, one of them asked me, "Is this Mommy kind of playdough?"

"Well", I answered. "I suppose it is. Would you like to get out your playdough when we finish making our pie?"

Hoorays. Cheers. One of them danced.

I sat in the nook in our kitchen drinking my coffee and watched them play. As the pie we baked together bubbled away in the oven.

Some days I don't want this job. I don't. Grace meets me there. It always meets me there.

But, God sends days like today - stinky, sweaty head, pudgy fingers in the cinnamon, flour on the counter, I want nothing more than to be right next to you days to remind me that being their mother is truly what I want to do.

And, home is where I want to be.