Thrill-Seeking

My ten-year high school reunion is this month. It's thousands of miles away, so I have a great excuse not to go. There are a few people I might've liked to say hi to, but that's about it. It seems to me that class reunions are an opportunity to judge, at a glance, what people have made of themselves. Are they 300 pounds fatter? Are they rich and successful? What are they wearing? Not really my scene in the first place, but as I've thought about it here and there, what would I have to say for myself? I got a bachelor's degree, got married, followed him to a job, and now stay at home with my three, count 'em, three (!) children. That's it in a nutshell. Let the Mormon jokes ensue and the silent dismissal begin.

The life of a stay-at-home mother is observed by many as bland, demeaning, a waste. But as such, I'm here to say that yeah, things are hard sometimes and not very glamorous, but I find motherhood, at least my particular brand of it, to be deep, satisfying, and enlarging. There is abundant recompense for the lack of sleep, constant messes, potty/pre-potty fun, and mundanity. If I get my attitude just right, which I do on occasion, I find it to be positively thrilling. Trying to imagine the world through the eyes of my children is refreshing and exciting. And it is so very rewarding to offer them a safe place to discover and explore and grow, both in our home and in my relationship with them.

To get that across I'd have to have about a hundred extra sticky "hello my name is . . ." tags and very small handwriting. And in the end, no one would be impressed anyway. So to heck with the reunion. I'm living my dream. It looks kind of like this.

Crazy trampoline hair.

A cute little house that my cute little pregnant sister can visit.

Cookies. Lots of 'em.

Making preparations to go exploring. I especially like the unintentional ten-gallon hat Bryn is wearing and the choke hold.

Decked out and ready to go exploring.

Sunday afternoon walks.

Sniffing flowers.

Leah's first time playing Addison and Bryn's "drum," which is some sort of electrical box in the neighborhood.

Being spoiled by the neighborhood grandpas.