Like supernatural powers. (How else do I know that three rooms away behind a closed door someone is opening up all the bandaids? Or, if you want to get really serious, how else could I sense Noah having a seizure from downstairs as I decorated the Christmas tree? He made no sound, but I knew.)
Some parts experience... just knowing my children. Quite predictable creatures they can be until about age three. Then magically at age four it's back to reading them like a book again. What IS it about three?
Many parts trial and error. And getting it wrong more times than I get it right.
We're the heart of the home, Moms. (So they tell us.) If we don't take care of ourselves, make each child feel like they are our favorite, get enough chocolate, and exercise our right to have the most shoes in the closet, then the home just doesn't run like it should. Or something like that.
I'm just an every Mom. I have so many flaws. We All Do.
But it isn't the prettiest and smoothest rock my kids pick up off the ground or the most perfectly tall and yellow dandelion... it's always the one with the most scratches and scars, the wilted and the dirty, that make it into their pockets. The treasures that end up in my washer. The things I find under their pillows or deep inside their backpacks.
From the top of my head right down to my really cute shoes, I'm soft and scarred and sometimes utterly exhausted. And I love them more than it could ever be logically explained.
This post is part of my entry in the Mother Of All Bloggers contest by the Momlogic Community and Mom Bloggers Club. I've been nominated and they are narrowing it down to ten bloggers. THEN would you please come vote for me if I am selected and that way I can win my very first laptop??? (I'll keep you posted.)
This photo is one of my favorites, back when Ivy was still in my bellay. By Ashlee Allen.
p.s. I personally credit my "supernatural powers" to be a listening to the Holy Spirit kinda thing. I couldn't Mother without it.
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