My dad's been telling me for a while that sometimes God gives us children who will help refine us because they challenge us. I'm really starting to believe that.
I've learned from the kids that I am stronger than the smell of food that has been brought forth from forsaken places onto the bathroom floor at midnight-thirty, even though my gag reflex wants me to believe otherwise.
I've learned that making decisions about the kids schooling scares me more than just about anything, save a high fever and the flu.
I've learned that all the kids have a lot of me in them. That the way she rolls her eyes and tells me no makes me furious because it reminds me of me and that the way he screams uncontrollably when he is mad makes me want to run away from home because I can relate and feel the same way he does a lot and that his arguing with me drives me crazy because I don't like that in me and I do the same thing, often.
Not only do my kids' personalities confront unbecoming aspects of who I am head on, they also say things that bring me to my knees and make me want to have a voice recorder installed in my finger tip so that I can replay their profoundly innocent wisdom over and over. Like last night, when the 4 year old prayed something like, "Jesus. Help me to say true things. Help me to be always nice. Help me to treat Maile kindly. And for the kid across the street to treat his sister kindly. And for me to always treat Maile kindly and everyone else. And help me be good at Spanish learning."
